The World Needs Champions
by Kinkor the Knight
Summary: Sequel to "Dreams of the Desolation." Hiccup, his friends and allies, whether human, dragon, or other, must reunite and together face the true might of the Alchemist and her forces, or the planet's future will be literally Scoured away. The final leg of Dragons: Champions begins, and nothing will be ever be the same.
1. Prologue

**Rights:** Dreamworks and such. Not me. Nope

**Previous Stories in the **_**Dragons: Champions**_** Series (In Order)**:

Standing Against, Standing Between

I Bring The Thunder

Dreams Of The Desolation

**Note**: If you're here without having read the previous stories, all I can say is… are you crazy? You should be reading all the other stuff first.

**Author's Notes **(feel free to skip my rambling if you wish):

Story endings are difficult. In fact, they tend to suck. Yet I think they're the second-most important part of any story (the first being how the story begins) because endings are the last thing you'll take away. A good ending won't necessarily save a story, but a bad ending will almost certainly sink one.

What makes endings problematic is that there are a hundred ways an ending can go off the rails. A lot of writers make the mistake of thinking that the story must end as soon as the climax is finished, leaving plot points hanging. Others force a happy ending for the sake of their audience, while others rush their story so that they can wrap up all the loose ends. Some don't even really end anything, choosing to keep things open for future projects (this is especially prevalent in Hollywood, where you have a franchise to sell).

The best endings I know of have two common traits. First, they're appropriate to the story. Satire should go out satirically, comedies should get in one last laugh, and horror should leave you rattled in one fashion or another. A sad ending is not a bad ending if it reflects the story (though throwing in a sad/depressing ending just to make your story "edgy" or memorable is as cheap as forcing a happy ending).

Second, they save the best for last. I'm not talking about bigger and bigger spectacle. I'm talking about conflict resolution. Points should be made and confrontations should be meaningful. You don't have to keep raising the stakes, but there should be consequences at the end.

These are my standards, and it's a tall order. It's what I reach for as a writer, and the universe knows I don't always get there. But I try nonetheless.

As I say all this, I should be quick to point out that this isn't the final end to my fanfic writing. Every ending ultimately leads to the beginning of a new story. Whether it's a story worth telling remains to be seen.

A few odds and ends before we begin:

Check my profile for what is considered canon and non-canon in my series.

There will be characters here from the _Dragons: Riders of Berk_ TV series, but you shouldn't have to watch the show to understand who there are. If a character's background is a mystery to you, rest assured that they won't stay a mystery for long.

This series features a lot of original characters (OCs). I make no apologies for it.

That's it. As always, hope you enjoy.

**Prologue**

In a land where your typical winter was more menacing than a horde of Monstrous Nightmares, every Viking had to pull their own weight and then some. Missing arms and legs weren't even enough to elicit a single syllable of pity from most warriors, nor did being chief of the village grant you the right to be an armchair general.

Near-arctic winter had moved into Berk, the air almost solid with frost. The snow piled up around the homesteads and covered all the brown and green of Berk in a blanket of white. Outside of the curls of smoke rising from household chimneys, the world appeared shut down and silent. The yaks and the sheep had their barns, the dragons had their caves and dragon-houses, and the Vikings had their fires and homes. They had prepared for the long cold as they had prepared for it over the centuries, and this winter would be no different.

To the Berkians, the sight of their chief standing at the central well and pulling up bucket after bucket of ice-cold water and dumping it into a large steel basin would normally be overlooked by most village dwellers as proper chieftain behavior. Stoick had been manning the well for an hour, filling up the basin and then disappearing with it, only to return with an empty basin several minutes later. Here was the perfect example of a Viking hard at work getting water for his family, though Stoick currently lacked any family to get water for. And considering that it was barely dawn and most sensible folk were in their beds and under their furs, his behavior did evoke curiosity from an occasional passerby, though not enough curiosity for any to risk disturbing Stoick's task by asking questions.

Gobber had nipped out to the smithy to make a few alterations to his false tooth when he spied his old friend at the well. It didn't take long for him to decide that Stoick's behavior was atypical. Being friends for years, he knew most of Stoick's ticks and quirks. This was new.

He was also one of the few people Stoick never got mad at for asking personal questions. Stoick was halfway to filling his basin again when Gobber decided that the well was going to run dry if something wasn't said. Gobber approached and smiled crookedly, waving his false arm at the basin. "You finally makin' that indoor pool I've always wanted?" he joked.

"I'm cleaning out my son's dragon-house," explained Stoick, his eyes on the pulley instead of his friend, his great hands yanking the rope with steady precision.

"Now?" said Gobber.

"Hiccup left so quickly that he never got around to it," said Stoick. "I thought I'd do him a favor before he got back."

"Looks more like you're flooding it," said Gobber. "Besides, Hiccup's always been good about cleaning up after Toothless."

"I don't need your advice on how to clean my own home, Gobber." Stoick's tone was heading toward testy territory, but he didn't sound angry as yet.

"No, you don't, but maybe you want to do it when all that water isn't likely to freeze and…"

"It's all I have, Gobber!" Stoick's hands stopped their pulling and held the rope in place, the chief lowering his gaze but still not willing to look his friend in the eyes. "It's all I can do for him right now."

It wasn't hard for Gobber to guess the source of Stoick's agitation. Stoick had been in a state since Snotlout and Fishlegs had returned from a very eventful outing several days ago, minus the Twins and their Zippleback and plus some very disturbing information. In fact, the whole village was in a state, mourning the loss of one of their brightest young Vikings so very far away from home. Astrid's parents had taken the news hard, though Stoick had made effort to comfort them as much as he could, reminding them how brave a daughter they had and how nobly she'd met her fate. Being Vikings, they took some solace in his efforts, but there was only so much Stoick could do. Loss was loss, something Stoick was well familiar with.

There was also solace to be had with the news that Hiccup was alive and fighting on, if doing so on the other side of the world, but it only made Stoick miss him that much more. He'd been attending to village duties as always, but the enthusiasm just wasn't there. Not that mending fences, settling neighborly disputes, and organizing village defense drills were exciting topics, but Stoick always gave such subjects his full attention. With Hiccup gone, he'd been more distracted, more willing to delegate. Gobber half-suspected that Stoick wanted to go find Thornado, his old trusty dragon steed, and fly off after his son so that Hiccup wouldn't have to face such dire times without a father to guide him through it.

Like every Viking father before him, Stoick had to learn to let go and trust his son's adventuring skills. And it almost seemed like he was getting there before this rash of bad news came to their ears and reminded Stoick that adventures often had bad endings.

"Your son is fine, Stoick," said Gobber in a calm voice. "He has a lot of good people looking out for him."

"Like the Twins?" scoffed Stoick, letting go of the rope and turning to his old friend. "Whose bright idea was it to have those two join him? Half the village sighed in relief when they heard they were gone."

"Stoick…"

"I didn't want this for him, Gobber," blurted out Stoick. "Yes, I wanted a son that would follow in my footsteps, but I didn't want him to follow them _this_ closely. I didn't want him to go through what I did… losing that one special person so soon…" Stoick shook his head sadly, memories surfacing of old hurts that never quite heal completely.

"Occupational hazard, right?" continued Stoick in a rueful voice. "That's what we tell ourselves. Such words seem so hollow right now."

Gobber moved in and gently placed his good hand on Stoick's shoulder. "Hiccup is your son – strong and stubborn. By Thor's mighty hammer and Odin's good eye, he'll get through this and he'll come home to us… probably with the same number of limbs he left with."

"But he won't be the same, Gobber," said Stoick. "The kind of grief he's going through… he won't be the same."

Stoick sensed that other eyes were upon them and quickly put back his fearless-leader persona, returning to the rope and resuming his pulling. "But no matter when or how he comes home, at least he'll have a clean house to come back to."

Gobber didn't reply. He'd been at Stoick's side when Valhallarama, Stoick's wife and Hiccup's mother, met her fate many years ago. Before that horrible time, Stoick's name had simply been a name. He'd even been fun, rowdy and boisterous and quick with the jokes and not so driven to kill dragons. Afterwards, the name became who he was, a way to cope with the grim realities of life. Village security became paramount, and his disapproval of his son's physical failings escalated. It had taken a long time for Stoick to wake up and see his son for who he was and to be proud of having a son like Hiccup, but at least he finally got around to it.

As Gobber lingered next to Stoick and watched the burly chief resume his water-carrying task, he was praying to any Norse gods not too busy slaying giants to keep an eye on Hiccup. He prayed that, for once, let not the son be too much like the father. Let Hiccup come home Hiccup.

* * *

Cragfist, formerly of Clan Gunnarr and now of Clan Nothing, knew of an old proverb whose origins he had long forgotten: keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

His problem was that he wasn't sure who was who anymore.

The _Zenith_, former flagship of the Alchemist, was anchored off of a deserted stretch of coastline somewhere in the southern Mediterranean Sea, exposed to the streaming sun instead of shielded by the ship's mist generator. They had been here for a good day-and-a-half, the sailors taking shifts moving ashore in their landing boats to stretch their legs and hunt for provisions. It was Cervantes's concession to his men, who had been stuck at sea for too long and who would likely have considered mutiny if they had been forced to wait too many days longer.

Cragfist had already had his shift, walking about the barren beaches and exploring the adjacent grasslands for anything worth killing. Outside of a ground squirrel, one that proved impossible to catch among the wild grass, Cragfist had found little to satisfy him. He had returned to the _Zenith_ early, only slightly less depressed than before.

Now he walked the length of the ship, exercising his legs and hoping to find a sailor or soldier doing something wrong, which would allow him to exercise his right to punish. But the ship was at half-crew and all the on-deck crew were right at work, scrubbing decks and securing equipment and watching for other boats on the horizon. Fours days with Cervantes had made the crew extremely obedient. Unlike the Alchemist, Cervantes had no qualms about breaking up squabbles between sailors by summarily executing all the troublemakers.

He avoided the bow as much as possible. _All_ the sailors avoided the bow. The bow had become Cervantes's section, the silver-hued skeletal dragon made of mystical steel standing in a marked region of the deck, hunched over the weird alien-starfish device that summoned death from the skies, staring at it with his soulless eyes for hours and hours unending, night and day, storm and sunshine. It reminded Cragfist of the Alchemist and her relentless efforts to draw information out of an inanimate artifact not so long ago. Ironically, the inanimate artifact had been Cervantes all along, trapped in a type of lifeboat for disembodied minds. Trapped until Cragfist had unwittingly given him the energy he needed to rise to power.

Cragfist tried hard to steer his thoughts away from examples of his foolishness. There were too many to count now. But this one stuck. It always stuck. He had traded a powerful, yet surprisingly accommodating, woman of ancient magic and science for his father's killer. He had brought this on himself, and his brain wouldn't let the matter rest for even one second.

Today, the thought assailed him as he neared the bow, distracted him. He didn't realize he had gone past the line of water barrels cordoning off Cervantes's section. It only dawned on him that he'd intruded in the metal necromancer's space when he heard the unnerving hum of harmonic sound coming from his right. He stopped and twisted his head, dismayed at how close he stood to Cervantes and the Catalyszier, the two odd fish humming at each other like a pair of amateur vocalists. Cervantes had his clawed hands hovering over the top of the crystalline device, like he was warming them over a fire.

If he backed away slowly, he might not get the necromancer's attention. He might escape without any tongue lashings or…

_Ah, Cragfist,_ piped up Cervantes, his dragonoid head facing the Viking's direction, his eyes pulsing with each syllable. _How good of you to join me. _

Cragfist sighed to himself and pivoted to face the metal monster. He only had himself to blame for this one. "Yes, Cervantes?"

Cervantes picked up on Cragfist's discomfort, chuckling his disconcerting imitation of human laughter. _Distracted, I see. It pays to always know your whereabouts, First-In-Line._

"Right, I'll get on that," said Cragfist, hoping that was the end of it. First-In-Line was Cervantes's pet name for Cragfist, on account that he was as close to a first officer as it got aboard the _Zenith_. The necromancer had done away with most rankings, but Cervantes had made it clear that while there was no other authority except him, he did have his favorites.

The mutual humming ceased as Cervantes moved his hands from the Catalyszier, turning so that Cragfist could see every rib in the necromancer's exposed ribcage. He felt very small and helpless next to the power Cervantes wielded in that steel devil body of his.

_Have you heard the latest gossip on the grapevine?_ asked the necromancer.

"The men don't talk to me about much." Of course they didn't. The men hadn't liked him to begin with, but being First-In-Line meant he had the ear of Cervantes, which meant news he overhead would likely reach Cervantes. Conversations had a tendency to silence wherever he walked.

_It is said that the Alchemist yet lives, _Cervantes informed, surprisingly unemotional while he talked of the powerful woman they had betrayed. Cervantes saw Cragfist's eyes widen in pure panic and did that disturbing broken chuckle he was fond of.

_Like the rest, you jump to conclusions. The signalman who works at the controls of the Conduit Capacitor was relaying what he'd heard through the open conduit to Sanctuary. Talk of bounties on various enemies of the Alchemist, including one on me. The highest reward for my powercore on a platter. I should be flattered. _

For a change, Cragfist had a decent idea of what Cervantes was talking about. The Conduit Capacitor (another sage word… by the Gods, how he'd grown to hate sage words) was some kind of artifact kept in the bowels of the ship that had the power to send the thoughts of its user to other Conduit Capacitors elsewhere in the world. The Alchemist's forces used them to stay in touch with each other, like sending messengers or letters across the lands but without the need for paper and personnel. There was always a crewman on duty at the device, writing down messages received from the Capacitor. He hadn't ventured down to see the artifact himself – he had learned to steer well clear of all artifacts these days, especially ones that talked.

"Am I on the list?" Cragfist asked.

_No,_ said Cervantes, _it would seem that your part in my rise to power has gone unnoticed. Rest assured, it won't stay that way for long. Nonetheless, it is a moot point. There are no enemies of the Alchemist for there is no Alchemist, not any more. It is a smokescreen, a lie sent abroad by those loyal to the Alchemist. They desire to keep her memory alive so as not to invite a rebellion or court desertion. They will keep this up until the truth becomes undeniable. How long that takes is a matter for the soothsayers, not for the likes of you and me._

Cervantes' certainty came across like a wet towel to the face, and there was a horrible moment when Cragfist wished the necromancer was wrong so that he might one day hear the smugness disappear from the necromancer's voice. But that would mean the Alchemist lived, seeking retribution on those who had betrayed her. Any gloating Cragfist got in would be very short-lived, along with his lifespan.

_What it __**does **__mean is that the Alchemist's subordinates will be expecting a fight when we arrive, so we must prepare for one. If you wish, you may stay and witness my discussion with a former friend of yours. I had him summoned to my presence just before you arrived. He'll be here any moment. _

Former friend? Did he have any former friends? Cragfist knew about this sarcasm business, but like so many other concepts he could never quite wrap his brain around it.

He didn't have long to figure out Cervantes's meaning, as the "former friend" was walking around the water-barrel line with two armed escorts. Cragfist blanched at first when he saw the huge half-troll walk by him, barely even giving him a glance, acting like he was nonexistent. The half-troll's arms were manacled behind his back, his clothes were little better than rags, and his fancy mystical gem belt had been confiscated the day the _Zenith _changed ownership, yet Cragfist couldn't stop feeling a measure of fear. Norom had given Cragfist a very one-sided thumping on their first meeting, a fact Norom had continuously reminded him of every moment they spent together. Cragfist desperately wanted to feel smug about Norom's reversal of fortune, but the half-troll's imposing stature made that difficult.

Norom now stood in front of Cervantes, wearing a defiant expression despite the bruises on his cheeks. Cervantes had personally worked him over several times in the last four days, yet Norom didn't act any more cowed than before. His undying loyalty to the Alchemist was going to be the death of him.

_Good day, Norom. To expedite my time, we'll skip the amusing part where I make cruel teases about your situation and get right to the meat of my demands_. _I need more information on this vessel's abilities. As you were the Alchemist's First, I trust you know a fair amount about them._

Norom gave him no reply, sticking to his stolid routine. Cragfist hadn't had the privilege of sitting through an interrogation until now, and he found he was anticipating the upcoming hurting session with surprisingly little glee. Norom had belittled him, even abused him, and normally that was plenty reason to watch him suffer. Yet all he felt was a gnawing emptiness within him, like someone had removed every ounce of sadistic joy from him and left a gaping hole in his soul. He _wanted _to enjoy this, yet he couldn't summon a single jolt of merriment at the notion of Norom writhing in agony.

He considered the grim prospect that ignorance truly was bliss. No matter how much Norom suffered, Cervantes, the only other being in the world more responsible for his disgrace than Saga, would remain in charge of his life.

_Your loyalty to your deceased leader is commendable,_ continued Cervantes, taking a step closer to Norom and placing a claw-hand on his shoulder like he was comforting an old friend. _Commendable and foolhardy. I __**will**__ take control of Sanctuary and all the power held there. I have all the time and talent I need to do so. You can either assist and be granted mercy, or you can find out how drawn out a death can truly be. We are talking weeks, even months, half-troll. A day for every hour you slow me down. Is the memory of your fallen Alchemist worth such a price?_

Norom's face twitched at his mouth. He had to be tempted to speak, to insult and defend his leader. But the twitching ceased and the stoic half-troll remained silent. Norom knew that to speak was to risk saying the wrong thing. Right now, Norom had leverage for his survival. Give that up, and Cervantes's "mercy" would be instant.

The metal necromancer couldn't quite manage a sneer yet on his new body, so he opted for a headshake to show his dissatisfaction. _I seem to be plagued by stubborn foes everywhere I go. I may appreciate loyalty, Norom, but I detest stubbornness._

A sizzling, snapping sound erupted from Cervantes's gripping hand, a blue current of electricity enveloping the hand and leaping to Norom's shoulder, where it spread all over the half-troll's body. Norom jerked in Cervantes's iron grip, every hair on his head standing on end, clenching his teeth as agony rolled through every nerve and muscle in him, lighting him up like a human-shaped thunderstorm. Even coated with electrical anguish, Norom refused to even grunt or exhale, even as Cervantes mercilessly increased the strength of the current and literally made him dance like a puppet held up by strings of lightning.

Cragfist watched the cruel display of power along with many other fascinated and terrified crewmembers. He continued to feel no joy. He knew Norom would eventually give in – everyone had their limits, even stubborn half-trolls. After that, Norom would be no more… and Cervantes would need someone new to torment. He did favor Cragfist for now, but Cervantes had a mad tendency to betray the ones he favored.

Cragfist knew it was only a matter of time before it was his turn to suffer in Cervantes's grip.

* * *

Lord Dunkirk had always thought of the balcony outside his room as _the _best view of Riki Poka, and for good reason. With his century-old manor built on top of one of the low hills on the outskirts of the city, it had no obstructing buildings or competing hills to interfere with the gorgeous and panoramic display of city life. From a distance, everything had a benign charm to it: the wagons in the streets ferrying goods to and from the Market District, the flotilla of defense boats circling outside the bay, the voices of thousands of citizens merging into an all-encompassing white noise that never really went away, even at night.

Everything looked wonderful from a distance, and that was the way most of the lords in Riki Poka liked it. That was part of the problem.

As he leaned against the stone balcony wall and let the noonday sun warm his wind-chilled face and short blond hair, his eyes drifted away from the serene, inspirational sight of his city and toward the east. Most of the morning fog had burned off, allowing for a clear day with a few scattered clouds dotting the blue above, but one cloud remained parked in the east, a cloud that swirled like a slow whirlpool in the sky. It had emerged close to ten days ago, an aberration that marked a horrible transgression to the natural order of things. The cloud had thinned over the passing days, going from a dark and stormy rainmaker to a wispy and transparent covering over the last week, but it persisted in staying directly over Outcast Bay, rotating in exactly the same place day in and day out.

He had witnessed the dreaded demonstration of light and destruction on this very balcony, as had half of the city from their various homes and places of work. At the time, he had thought it very peculiar but not threatening, something akin to a bizarre storm centered over Outcast Bay. But the stark reminder of the fading circular cloud made him more and more troubled every day.

The day before was so delightful by comparison. Harvest Festival had been in full swing, the city feasting and singing and dancing, celebrating the good times together before the winter months made such celebrations a soggy affair. A record number of immigrants and travelers had arrived to offer their money and their time, soon to return home and spread the word of the opportunities Riki Poka presented the world. The number of criminal incidents had been few and kept under wraps, and the general consensus between the Lords of Riki Poka was that Harvest Festival was a roaring success, as usual.

Lord Dunkirk himself had gone out to mingle with the people, the "common rabble" to other Lords. He had mingled as a Lord, donning his best ceremonial armor and putting on his best mingling face as he circulated the city. He had gone past the Market District and to the other sections of the city, where few Lords ventured. He had even gone by the Open Museum, where he still contended that the portrait of him that hung there hadn't gotten his ears right.

He mingled a lot these days. That's why he knew of the many problems that hid under the glowing reputation of Riki Poka – the inequality between Market District and the poorer districts, the undercurrent of crime that flourished around the docks, the understandable resentments of the residents who felt neglected by the Lords' commerce-first policies. That's why he knew the people had come out of the festival with a collective sense of joy and ease, even though the days ahead would quickly remind everyone that while life's problems could be hidden by a good celebration, it never solved them.

Then the mysterious lightstorm occurred, and opinions changed somewhat. No one had ever witnessed such a bizarre phenomenon, and so close to the city. Murmurs and rumors materialized, suggesting everything from a focused thunderstorm to divine intervention. One of the more persistent and powerful rumors, circulated by the criminal elements of the city, referred to an unknown mercenary leader dubbed The Alchemist, and that somehow she had been the one to summon the storm. She claimed to "bring the thunder" and would sell it to the highest bidder the next time she came to the city.

Despite efforts by the Lords to quell such talk, the rumors persisted like a crop of dandelions in a field of daisies. The people were afraid that this Alchemist was quite real, that her intentions were ultimately insidious, and that the Lords weren't doing enough to protect the city. After the debriefing with Admiral Pelzer, the officer in charge of Riki Poka's fleet and the man who had personally gone to investigate the strange occurrence, Dunkirk had to agree.

"Dunkirk?" The call from within his room came from a deeper, mirthless voice, one Dunkirk knew quite well. He didn't dread the voice exactly, but his life would be easier if he didn't have to deal with the voice's owner every day.

Dunkirk moved through the balcony door and found Lord Benzyl, the middle-aged, gray-streaked overweight man already inside the room without having knocked for permission to enter. Permission was always granted, but presumption was unbecoming. The older lord was heading for the dining table for today's business-lunch, the table set with fine silverware and imported liquor from a foreign kingdom with an impressively unpronounceable name.

Lord Benzyl saw Dunkirk, smiled politely, and then squeezed his bulk into his favorite seat at the table. He had on a new outfit, a garishly colorful thing made of brilliant blue and green fabrics that easily took one's eyes off the man's sizeable gut. A lord of many contradictions – resistant to any kind of change to the fabric of life, but a lover of new fabric, no matter how tacky or tasteless it might be.

"Glad you're not late, Dunkirk," said Benzyl, helping himself to some grapes from the fruit bowl. "Didn't want to be rude and start without you. I've worked up quite the appetite today."

"Yes, walking up three flights of stairs does make one famished," commented Dunkirk dryly, scooting into his own designated seat. "Or so I'm told."

"Can your wit take a day off for once?" Benzyl popped a grape into his mouth and chewed it with gusto. "We have a lot to go over before the Lords' Meeting next week and we need to be on the same page if we intend to put things back in order and recover our city's reputation."

"Recover it? I wasn't aware we lost it."

"Oh, we haven't… not yet. But you are aware that the Cutthroats have been increasing their activities as of late, aren't you? As have other gangs and thieves in the city."

Dunkirk grabbed an apple and began to use a supplied paring knife to de-skin it. He wasn't very hungry today – his appetite lessened as his apprehension increased – but it gave him something to do besides watching the fat Lord next to him eat. "I've heard rumors, but nothing substantial."

"They're emboldened, I say," declared Lord Benzyl. "The guard overhears the apprehended ones talking about how the Alchemist is going to turn everything upside down. They say Outcast Bay was just the beginning. Fools, all of them. Some insane storm destroys their pitiful settlement and they think it's a great deal."

"Perhaps we should take their words more seriously. Many of them were at Outcast Bay that day."

"And many of them were sleeping off hangovers." Benzyl gave him an impatient glare. "Dunkirk, reputation is everything. All this talk of unnatural disaster is blemishing our city's image. We offer safe travels and safe desires. The last thing we need is to make our city look dangerous by overreacting."

"Right, overreacting. I assume you're referring to my proposal to double the defense fleet and restrict sea travel to a few established routes."

"Exactly." Another grape disappeared into Benzyl's mouth. "Many of the other Lords are jittery, like you. They might go for your idea. But how will it look to travelers to see our city get so tight on sea travel? We'll scare them off."

"If the Alchemist is real, then the mighty ship at her disposal is equally real. That's where we need to put our efforts."

Benzyl ceased his eating for once, placing the newest grape in his hand back on his plate. He then closed his eyes and shook his head in quiet frustration. "You're the youngest Lord in Riki Poka, Dunkirk. With youth comes ambition, and I understand that."

"This has nothing to do with ambition," countered Dunkirk, putting down his half-skinned apple.

"Doesn't it? With you, it's one proposal after another, and most of the time they're plans to improve the rabble districts, or add more security to the docks. I particularly liked the absurdity of your recent plan to add a second park to the city."

"What was wrong with that?"

"For starters, we need to bring more travelers into our city, not plants. But mostly you don't seem to grasp the concept of commerce. Your ideas tend to go against it. I've excused it because I suspect you're attempting to make a name for yourself, as most of us attempt to do in our youth. I keep hoping you'll get tired of these exercises in futility and …"

"My ideas are based on the notion that all those who help generate commerce in our city should reap the benefits of it," interrupted Dunkirk. "But regardless of my philosophy, this current crisis is a different matter."

"We can't afford to fund a bigger navy, Dunkirk." Benzyl's temper was starting to tinge his words, his fingers tapping on his plate. "Nor can we afford the loss in trade shipping. Most of all, this is not a crisis. This is the superstitious babblings of uneducated rabble, and you're buying into it."

Dunkirk shot the elder Lord an angry look. "Half the city saw the sky come alive, my Lord. You can't dismiss them all. Nor can I ignore a potential threat to this city. I will proceed with bringing my proposal to the Lords' Meeting, with or without your support."

Benzyl's glare intensified. Dunkirk readied himself for one of the Lord's mean-spirited rants about the decaying of the status quo and how Dunkirk was the chief enabler. But to Dunkirk's surprise, Benzyl leaned back in his chair and chuckled like he'd just listened to a little kid try to tell a centuries-old joke like it was brand new.

"Go ahead, then," Benzyl quietly stated. "Perhaps it's time for you to stand on your own two feet at the Meetings. We'll see how far you get. Rest assured, young Dunkirk, that just because many Lords agree with you doesn't mean _enough _of them agree with you." Benzyl signaled the discussion had come to an end by plucking more fruit from the fruit bowl and grabbing half-a-loaf of bread. Food rapidly found his mouth, allowing for no more words to escape.

Dunkirk sat in silence and resumed his apple skinning, disheartened. He had heard the veiled intentions within Benzyl's statement. Up until now, Benzyl had allowed Dunkirk to submit his proposals without obstacle, occasionally supporting him but mostly keeping his mouth shut during Meetings. The other Lords had voted against his ideas over and over again, but not Benzyl. It was an old favor to Dunkirk's father – keeping his only son out of political trouble. But today, there would be no more of that. Benzyl would oppose him where he deemed opposition required, which was on virtually everything.

Dunkirk could see Benzyl successfully convincing enough Lords to go against this newest proposal. He'd been at this a lot longer than Dunkirk. He was an expert schmoozer. The fleet would remain at its regular size and spread out too thinly to counter any war vessel of serious magnitude, and the rumors suggested the Alchemist's ship was a very serious war vessel.

If the Alchemist returned, and if she "brought the thunder" with her, she would find Riki Poka lacking in opposition. And then Dunkirk, Benzyl, and every other citizen of the city would see her "thunder" up close and personal.


	2. Sanctuary

**Chapter One: Sanctuary**

Dreams and memories rarely cohabitate with each other, but when they do it can get very disturbing very quickly. So Astrid learned right before awaking to her new surroundings, before realizing she had even survived the unsurvivable.

It started in the worst of all possible starting points – with her arms straining in agony as she held up her lithe body and the not-as-lithe body of the Alchemist, who clung to her legs for dear life. She could have held on for some time – her arm muscles were rock hard from years of axe-swinging and combat training – but the growing waterfall cascading from the ceiling told her that time was not something she had much of. She had watched Hiccup desperately crawl towards her, holding out his hand inches shy of her, his terrified eyes locked on her own terrified eyes.

She couldn't get any closer, not with the added weight of the Alchemist to support. There was no way Hiccup could reach her without him falling off the broken archway. And if the waterfall grew any fiercer, it would take him down with her. She loved Hiccup too much to see that happen.

There are rare moments of clarity in every person's life when doubts are nonexistent and the path becomes easy to spot through the never-ending mists of the future. Astrid had had two such moments in her life so far. The first was when she nearly let Hiccup leave Berk without her, and how she knew she couldn't let him go without her. The second was when she knew Hiccup would die trying to save her… and that she had to take the matter out of his hands.

She told him, in her own way, that she loved him, and then she dropped.

Things got a little crazy after that.

As the sensation of freefall overwhelmed her and the world grew obscured by the cloud of steam she was falling through, her parting thought wasn't on everything she was about to lose or what awaited her in death. Oddly enough, she actually took a second to wonder if Hiccup had understood what she said. He hadn't known she knew he intended to ask her to marry him – she had figured that out from Nestor. Maybe he didn't understand what she was saying yes to. Of course, this was Hiccup and he was pretty smart, so maybe he…

That's as far as her thought got, because suddenly her freefall ended. Not with a smack and a trip to the Underworld, but with an odd floating feeling, like the steam cloud had embraced her and was holding her in the air. The Alchemist had slipped off her legs and now had an arm encircling Astrid's waist, pulling her close to the woman's body. Astrid could barely see her own hands, much less the Alchemist, but she could make out a weak red glow through the steam that flowed around the two of them.

"What the…?" she exclaimed, too confused to be happy that she wasn't plummeting any longer.

"Stay close, child, and you yet might live through this," demanded the Alchemist. As Astrid didn't particularly want a lava bath, Astrid didn't argue.

The red glow sparked her memory of the Alchemist's red sphere from earlier, a type of magic that kept all attacks from reaching her except the really slow ones. It also allowed her to defy the pull of the planet and hover, as well as control lava and other mineral-based objects, making her a magical powerhouse in her own right. But she knew that Hiccup had grabbed one of the gems off the Alchemist's harness, the device that was apparently performing the magic. He had neutralized her power. So how was this happening?

Twisting her head around, Astrid could faintly see the Alchemist's face in full concentration, her eyes tightly closed and her mouth mumbling something. Astrid also noted the harness had its central gem back in place, though this gem had a darker color and didn't fit as well as the last one. Most alarmingly, the gems appeared to be… smoking, like there were about to catch fire. Could gems catch fire?

Before things got really weird, she managed one last observation. The arm encircling her waist had an arm guard with encrusted gems in it, not surprising considering the Alchemist wore gems all over her body. What was noticeable was that there was an empty slot where one of the gems used to be.

"_Engage!"_ shouted the Alchemist in Astrid's ear. She may not have heard that command correctly, but whatever the Alchemist did shout sounded a lot like that specific Norse word. For a long second, Astrid thought the command was aimed at her, and that she was supposed to be engaging something. But then a new glow materialized around her, a yellowish one that clashed with the red aura and blossomed bursts of orange amongst the billowing steam. It was simultaneously beautiful and disorienting, though the disorientation might have come from another source as Astrid found the world growing oddly dark and immaterial, like she was falling asleep while remaining wide awake.

Then there was a sudden shove into the darkness, which was where both her dream and her memory ended.

* * *

Astrid couldn't remember waking up on such a comfortable bed as the one she awoke upon. Even her bed at home paled to the plush mattress underneath her. But rather than relish the feel of the warm bed, it alarmed her into full consciousness. Considering her last memory, that of falling and sudden reversals in physics and the terrifying sensation of getting unmade and rebuilt all at once, waking up on a wonderful bed lent itself to only one conclusion: she was dead, and this was Valhalla, the land of the heroic deceased where every meal was a feast and every bed was exquisite.

She sat up quickly, her eyes taking in the ordinary-looking room that more resembled a bunkhouse than the resting place for dead Vikings, and as she threw off the bed comforter she began to feel a draft from an open window on the far side of the room. The cold began to relax her. She didn't think anyone who was dead had to worry about the cold, which meant she was still alive. She also had on her garb from the Repository, grungy and in need of a wash but intact. She wanted to think that a trip to Valhalla meant a wardrobe change into something finer.

Two other beds shared the room with her, neither of which were occupied. The room was devoid of possessions, hers or anyone else's save for her boots lying below her bed. The one exit into or out of the room was secured with a basic wooden door with a narrow open window towards the top. A metal slot, only useable from the outside, covered up the window. It smacked of a prison setup, though a cushy prison for sure.

Ignoring her boots for now, she left her bed and padded around the room in an exploratory manner. It didn't take long to do, and she found no clues or items of use. She saved the window for last, expecting it to be barred up and not being disappointed. The steel felt plenty sturdy in her grip, and the bars did a good job of obscuring much of the outside from view, though what she could see answered few of her questions: a smattering of buildings, a clouded sky, the sounds of enigmatic voices and bangings and clankings wafting in on the cool draft.

Seeing that there were no other egress points from the room, that left the door. Predictably, it was locked. She heard what had to be snoring coming from outside the room, though the snoring abruptly cut off when she rattled the door handle.

"Anyone out there?" she yelled.

"Sheesh, what's with the yelling?" came the reply. The slot slid aside and a sleepy face appeared at the hole, a man wearing a simple helmet staring back at her irritably.

"Where am I?" Astrid demanded.

"You're in Sanctuary, girl," said the guard. "And you're disturbing my nap." The guard made a funny face. "Ain't you supposed to be sleeping?"

There was a burst of commotion from beyond the doorway and then another guard shows up, shoving the first guard to the side while calling him a waste of space. This guard was of lighter build and wore a more concealing helmet, complete with a nose guard and eye shield. This guard struck Astrid as feminine, though it was hard to tell with the helmet in place.

"Are you okay, miss?" asked the new guard, her voice a deep register, too deep to be genuine. Almost like she was trying to disguise it.

"Well, all things considered, I'm pretty good," Astrid replied. "I'm feeling a little hungry… and thirsty."

"Not surprising," the guard said. "You've been out for almost two days."

"Two days?" Not a comforting thing to hear. What would make her sleep for two days?

"I assume you have lots of questions," said the guard, anticipating Astrid's need for information, "but it's not up to me to answer them. We'll get you some food and water, but after that we're supposed to take you directly to the Alchemist."

The Alchemist was alive as well, which meant that her real-feeling dream was actually a memory of her rescue from certain death. The Alchemist had saved her somehow, and that probably meant she was now a prisoner. But what about Hiccup and Toothless and Saga and Nestor and everyone else? Where were they? How did they get out of the flooding Repository?

_Did_ they get out?

She threw the idea away as quickly as it formed. Of course they got out. Hiccup was too smart to let them all drown like rats in a well, and she was pretty sure Nestor had jumped to Hiccup's rescue. They were too strong and savvy a team to let something as simple as the Mediterranean Sea sink them. They had to have gotten out. They _had_ to have…

The door opened and the two guards briskly entered, the "waste of space" holding a tray of bread and water. The intelligent guard was definitely the smaller of the two, clearly a woman hiding behind the plain guard uniform. She wore a sheathed short sword on her belt, but her hands were nowhere near it. Astrid thought a guard expecting trouble would keep her hands on her weapon while her companion's hands were full. This guard was rather trusting, maybe because Astrid had no real clue where she was or where to go.

"Eat your fill while you can," said the feminine guard. "I wasn't kidding about the Alchemist, and whenever she talks to anyone, it's always serious business."

* * *

Astrid hadn't paid much attention to historical anecdotes of how the first Vikings in Berk carved out the Great Hall, but one thing was for sure – the Alchemist made those ancient miners and carvers look like little kids hammering rocks with wild abandon. The corridors of the building were composed of smoothed-over stone, nicer than any stone building Astrid had ever been in.

Astrid envisioned the Alchemist having a super-secret hideout in a mountain, someplace where there was lots of stone and lots of secrecy. She expected to be traveling down long descending corridors, going further into the recess of the earth. Instead, she was escorted out into the sunlight, on an elevated walkway connecting her prison-barracks to another well-crafted stone building. She winced at the strong sunlight despite its welcomed warmth. Too much time in the dark made the eyes sensitive.

Once her eyes adjusted, she saw things very clearly. This was no underground base at all, but an orderly set of stone buildings built inside a large natural basin, either a crater or the extinct remains of a volcanic caldera. Size-wise, Astrid didn't think the base was any bigger than Berk, at least in terms of the number of structures present, but it was far more condensed and compacted. Most buildings occupied the western slope of the basin, maintaining a rigid line of construction until the encampment touched a prominent lake of clear, still water on the other side of the crater. It was the lake that drew Astrid's attention, or more accurately what floated on its surface.

The lake was small by any standard measure and completely landlocked. Astrid didn't see any strait or river leading out of it. Yet there was a dockyard along its coastline, docks dotted with cranes and scaffolds and all manner of construction equipment. More than that, there were sea vessels in the water. Not fishing boats or sailboats or canoes – full-fledged warships of the same nature as the Alchemist's flagship.

Not as big, though. Not as impressive. Astrid counted seven of the stone warships, and there were all of the same design. Thinner, angular, shorter, yet almost as imposing as the monster vessel that she, Hiccup, and the others had encountered in the swirling waters around the Repository. Hundreds of men and women scurried like ants about the docks and the ships they were servicing. Most of the ships looked seaworthy, not that she could tell if a mystical stone sea vessel was seaworthy or not.

The sheer scope of the fleet distressed Astrid more than she'd ever admit. The Alchemist's operation was much bigger than she had imagined. It didn't make any sense, though. Build a fleet inside a water-filled crater, with no way to get them out to open sea? The sheer stupidity of it was almost comical.

But Astrid didn't feel like laughing, not at all. Her concern for Hiccup and the others was growing, and that suctioned off any chance of amusement. More than that, this was the Alchemist, someone as organized and deliberate and, above all, rational as Hiccup. If Hiccup knew every tool in his workshop, every string and nut and bolt of his devices, then she had little doubt that the Alchemist had a reason for building warships in a secluded lake.

It said a lot that the stone warships weren't the most eye-catching things in the base. That honor went to the crystal tower that occupied the base center. At least Astrid _thought _it was a tower, because otherwise she had no idea what it was. Two-thirds of it was your typical straight-up-and-down tower with no windows or decorations, not even an obvious doorway at ground level. It looked like solid purplish crystal, the color deep enough to obscure the translucent quality of the rock. The top third was either a disfigured tree or a _very_ disfigured five-armed starfish, Astrid couldn't decide. The five bulbous arms stretched out to the sky like it was appealing to any gods that might live up there. It was the tallest, thinnest structure in the base, easily twice as high as the next biggest building, putting it between one-fifty to two hundred feet tall. It looked top-heavy, like it should be toppling over any second, but it stood there securely and unwaveringly, like the weirdest and biggest piece of abstract art in the world. It made Astrid more nervous than the war fleet in the lake, because she had the distinct feeling that the purpose behind the crystal tower had nothing to do with art.

But she had more pressing matters to focus on, because halfway across the walkway was a connecting observation platform adorned with potted plants and a pair of large cone-shaped objects that resembled large spyglasses built into steel supports. The platform offered an excellent view of the entire encampment, which might have explained the spyglasses had they not been pointed up at the sky.

Wearing her brown, multi-pocketed workshop clothes, the Alchemist stood in the middle of the platform, in front of a table cluttered with tools and gems and leather patches and scrolls with rough schematics drawn upon them. The leather, gem-encrusted harness that she had worn during the battle in the Repository now occupied the table, the Alchemist moving her hands over it, tweaking it here and there, then moving to a ruby or an emerald and fiddling with that instead. She had on a type of eye patch that substituted the patch for a strange round eyepiece over her right eye. She also wore a gem-encrusted gauntlet that lit up with unnatural light on occasion, usually in synchrony with another gem on the table glowing at that moment. She even grunted on occasion at either a step forward or step backward in progress, not that Astrid could tell the difference.

Astrid was sure Hiccup would find the Alchemist's tinkering irresistibly fascinating. She found it mystifying, and yet oddly reassuring. The Alchemist wasn't some god that could turn Night Furies into half-metal monsters with a touch of her hand. She had to work at making her devices successful, like any other tinkerer. The resemblance to Hiccup came off stronger this time as Astrid watched the Alchemist work.

The guards were reluctant to disturb her, and they waited a good minute before the Alchemist deigned to look their direction, removing the eyepiece from her head and putting it on the table. She gave Astrid a surprisingly pleasant smile, with no undertone of malice in it.

"Glad you're finally awake," the Alchemist said. "Travel through the Fold affects everyone differently. On my first time through, I couldn't keep anything in my stomach for two days straight. You don't look too worse for wear, though. Did you get something to eat?"

"I'm… good," said Astrid, not sure about what else to say.

"I hope your accommodations are adequate," said the Alchemist. "Not that I'm offering anything better, but there's no sense in making things miserable for you."

Astrid almost said the room was a little drafty, then remembered who she was talking to and thought better. This was the leader of the enemy camp, not the hospitality host.

"You're probably wondering why I'm being nice," continued the Alchemist. "After all, I was doing my level best to kill you and your companions four days ago. Personally, I do pride myself on being consistent…"

"Four days ago?" blurted out Astrid. "I was told I was asleep for almost two."

"Yes, you were. But we were stuck in the Fold for close to three days before we ended up here. To your memory, only seconds would have passed by. I could explain the science behind it, but you'd be wearing a lot of baffled expressions if I did."

"How _did_ we end here… wherever _here_ is?" asked Astrid.

The Alchemist pointed her gauntlet at the harness on the table. "My old battle harness. I made it in case I somehow got caught up in the End War. It has plenty of useful features; low-altitude flight, mineral manipulation, inertial defense field… and a back-up T-Node. Alas, all those features require a great deal of mystical power, and when your boyfriend yanked my zanick stone he depowered my harness. I had to… improvise, and my harness suffered as a result."

Astrid did remember the smoking gems in the harness, especially the one in the center, the gem that didn't quite fit the slot it occupied. She must have shoved another gem into the slot to reactivate the harness. That was the only part of the Alchemist's so-called explanation that made sense.

"Was that supposed to explain how I ended up here?" she commented. "If it was, it didn't do a good job."

The Alchemist chuckled. "I'm sorry, I do get ahead of myself frequently. The T-Node is a teleportation device I invented a very long time ago. My people were using a series of ancient devices to instantly teleport to specific locations on the planet. Like most things from those days, the devices are all but dead now, but one such device I kept here, in Sanctuary." She spread out her arms to reference the base. "Another deactivated T-Node was kept in the Repository. The backup T-Node in my harness only functions within range of an active T-Node, so it's a good thing for the both of us that one of your companions went and reactivated the T-Node. I suspect Qiao had something to do with that."

Astrid thought she understood it now, or as much as she could. Teleportation – something the gods did if they weren't flying on horses or chariots. Mystical stuff made real by the Alchemist and the Artisans thousands of years ago. Astrid had her imagination tested a lot lately, but that kind of god-like power was too extreme to be believable. Yet here she was, alive and well thanks to that unbelievable god-like power.

And the name of the base – Sanctuary. That's what Hiccup called his getaway place back on Berk, the place where he befriended and trained Toothless. Great minds thought alike, it seemed. She didn't know whether to be intrigued or disturbed by the similarities between the Alchemist and her boyfriend. Maybe the Alchemist was once much like Hiccup, someone who relied on brain power instead of muscle, someone who liked to explore and invent, someone who came across a great discovery that changed… everything.

Except in the Alchemist's case, she had taken her discovery and made it dangerous. For all the traits she shared with Hiccup, she lacked his heart, and that made all the difference.

"I think what's bothering me is that you _saved_ me," said Astrid, thinking on the Alchemist's lack of heart. "Like you said, you were trying to kill us before."

"I'm not a heartless warlord, Astrid," replied the Alchemist. "I needed your team out of the way, and when you refused to take the hint I had to get serious. But I don't believe in taking lives without due cause. Besides, you saved my life. You didn't let me fall to my doom. I hadn't finished jury-rigging my harness with gems from my armband, so I might very well have swan-dived into a lava pit had you not kept me alive."

"I did what any decent person would've done," said Astrid. Personally, she wasn't all that sure she'd do the same thing again, decent person or not. The rush of sheer terror as she knowingly let go of the ledge was not something she wanted to repeat.

"True, but the supply of decent people in the world is rather thin. Regardless, you did me a favor, now I'm doing you one. While I cannot free you just yet, I will ensure your safety until the day comes when I can afford to free you. "

The Alchemist might have said more, but an orb-like device situated on her table distracted her. Astrid had paid it no heed – one more gem device in the Alchemist's toolkit. But this one now flashed out a soft glow, like distant lightning on the horizon. The Alchemist's mood perked up as she watched the orb light up. It clearly meant something to her, and suddenly she seemed in a rush to end the conversation.

The Alchemist motioned at the guards behind Astrid. "These two will ensure your basic needs are attended. Your movements will be restricted to your room and a few other locations as circumstances permit. I suggest that you put aside any escape plans forming in your head, as even if you escape Sanctuary you'll find there is nowhere to go. Cooperate, and your stay here will be tolerable."

The smaller guard made to grab Astrid's arm, but she shrugged it off and took a step forward, demonstrating that she wasn't ready to leave just yet. The bigger guard almost went for the short sword on his belt, but the Alchemist waved at him to stop. It must have been the pleading look on Astrid's face that convinced her that Astrid wasn't about to attack.

"Do you know what happened to my friends?" she asked. "Hiccup and Toothless?"

The Alchemist shook her head. "I know nothing of their fates. I'm hard pressed to believe they could survive the Repository's collapse, but then your allies are a capable bunch. It would not shock me if they did." One insistent nod from the Alchemist sent the two guards scurrying to grab Astrid's arms and lead her away, their boss turning her back and watching the sky expectantly.

Astrid didn't put up any fight as the two guards returned her to her room. It was too early to plan an escape, not until she figured out where she really was and what her options were. The Alchemist was playing nice right now, and putting up too much of a fuss would quickly change that. She also needed to find out more about the Alchemist's plans, and that meant staying on the Alchemist's good side for now.

But she made certain to mark all the exits and doors on her way back to her cell, how many guards roamed the hallways, how high the walkway was from the ground, any blind spots big enough for a person to hide in. She would put on the meek act for now, but that didn't mean she planned on staying long.

Besides, planning an escape was a better alternative to slowly getting eaten alive by worry over her missing friends, over Hiccup. She had faith that Hiccup and the others were alive, but faith isn't the same as certainty.

* * *

The Alchemist waited for Astrid and the guards to leave, then she let her face revert to a more anxious state. It didn't serve to look pensive in front of prisoners or subordinates. She needed her people to assume she had everything under control… even when things were far from it.

The flashing orb on the Alchemist's table was a recent invention, a proximity detector attuned to the same mystical frequencies that allowed the Alchemist to communicate with her favorite, and only, dragon friend. Having cannibalized her armband for the battle harness, she had come up with a temporary means of anticipating Dark Star's arrival. The orb was set to flash the moment Dark Star came within five miles of it, and increase its flash rate the closer she got. It also put out a weak homing signal for the dragon to zero in on.

She watched the sky to the east religiously, hoping that any speck in the distance would soon grow into something dragon-shaped. She had expected Dark Star a day ago. The dragon could fly extremely fast and tired at half the rate an entirely flesh-and-blood dragon would. She should have been here already. She was also carrying two of her lieutenants and a very important cargo, one vital for her plans.

When the orb's flashing tempo changed to a more rapid pulse, she scrutinized the horizon even more intensely. Soon enough, she spotted the very speck she wanted to see. The weight of all her miscalculations grew less with each passing second as the speck became a dot, then a dot with wings, then a funny-looking bird that soon morphed into a four-legged half-metal creature zooming in on her position.

A smile found its way onto her face when she saw the two figures riding on the dragon's back. Kong and Sheen had survived after all. Two out of three wishes fulfilled, with the biggest one yet to come.

Dark Star let out a simulated growl of greeting as she happily circled above her master, coming in for a landing on the observation deck and accidentally knocking a potted plant sideways in her enthusiasm. The Alchemist laughed as she walked up to the tardy dragon and rubbed her hand on the fleshy part of Dark Star's head. The dragon's one red eye regarded her emotionlessly, its luminance less brilliant than the Alchemist remembered.

"Good Dark Star," the Alchemist cooed. "You never fail me." The dragon rubbed up against her briefly before remembering she had two riders to dismount and lowering her body to the ground.

Sheen and Kong were too busy being shocked by their leader's appearance to actually greet her, though it was hard to tell with Kong as he had his stony-faced demeanor in place. He also had a bandage wrapped around his head like a headband. His head wound must not have been that bad, though, as he slid off Dark Star's back and bowed in respect to his leader as if everything was business as usual.

"What in the nine circles of hell are you doing here?" asked Sheen as her legs touched solid ground.

"Pleasant as always, Sheen," commented the Alchemist. "It's good that I don't rely on you for congeniality."

"Honored Alchemist, she speaks out of confusion," said Kong. "We left you in the Repository."

"I always find a way, Kong," she replied. "Don't you know that by now?"

Sheen shook her head in disbelief, her white hair almost blinding to look at in direct sunlight. "But the whole place was coming down."

"I'll explain later, Sheen. Right now, I need to know a few things, like why Dark Star took so long getting here."

"Your dragon is experiencing difficulties with her metal components," said Kong. "She had to stop several times to recharge."

"Good thing for us, though," said Sheen. "Dark Star was prepared to keep on flying forever, and we needed food and water and sleep. Especially Kong, since he took a head wound for you."

"I'm aware, Sheen," said the Alchemist. She gave Dark Star another rub. "I fear the damage done by the Hyperion's electrical blast screwed up her gem alignments, causing a power drain. Such things can be fixed." She gave Kong a hard look. "Kong, you should go down to the medical ward."

"My place is with you, Alchemist," Kong calmly stated. "My injury is not life-threatening, and you have a serious threat approaching Sanctuary."

"I'm aware of that as well, Kong. Did Dark Star see who took over our ship?"

"She saw everything," said Sheen. "As did we. Some kind of skeletal dragon made of metal was standing around, giving orders. Craziest thing I've ever seen."

"Cervantes."

Sheen and Kong exchanged baffled looks. "You know of this usurper?" said Kong.

The Alchemist sighed as she leaned on Dark Star absently. "The artifact we picked up from the North Sea, the Recorder, was actually Cervantes, someone I encountered back before I had recruited either of you. The encounter did not go well, and I revealed too much of my intentions to him. I knew he inhabited the Recorder the whole time, but it was a risk I was willing to take to keep Qiao out of harm's way. At the time he lacked the power to shapeshift his form into something dangerous. He shouldn't have gotten access to such power unless… unless he was aided by another on the _Zenith_."

"A traitor," said Sheen. "It's going to be fun figuring out who. Let me go on record saying that trying to keep your surrogate daughter out of our plans wasn't worth the loss of our flagship."

"Did you see her escape? Qiao, I mean/?" asked the Alchemist, largely ignoring the flippant attitude of her least-favorite lieutenant.

"The Hyperion escaped the Repository as we did," reported Kong. "Qiao rode on its back, along with two others. One I recognized as the Seer. The other I did not know."

The smile returned to the Alchemist's face briefly before she forced it away. Now was not the time for sentimentality. Qiao remained exposed and in the company of adversaries. She could hope Qiao would stay out of the fracas from now on, but she didn't subscribe to hope these days.

One problem at a time. She currently had a warship to reclaim and a plan to implement.

It didn't escape her attention that Kong didn't mention the "normal" Night Fury and his rider escaping the fall of the Repository. That was information they should keep from their prisoner for as long as possible. Otherwise she'd become far less agreeable, and the Alchemist didn't want to put down someone who had essentially saved her life.

Anticipating her next concern, Kong produced a worn knapsack from off his shoulder and presented it to his master. "I kept this with me the whole time, Alchemist."

"He did," commented Sheen. "He even used it as a pillow."

The Alchemist took it and opened the sack, plucking out a melon-sized diamondesque gem and holding it up to the sun. It was the zanick, and it was undamaged. The rock seemed to absorb the sunlight around it, soaking it in and refusing to reflect any light outward. Instead, it sparkled within, tiny lights dancing erratically as if it contained a forest's worth of miniature fireflies. A rock from a different realm of existence, the key that she needed to fulfill her true ambitions. Best of all, there was enough of it that she could afford to chip off a small amount to power up her battle harness again. She wouldn't have to continue burning through lesser gems just to keep the defense field functional.

She lowered the zanick and glanced at the crystal tower in the middle of her Sanctuary, standing like a surreal monument to an alien god. In truth, it was neither a monument nor a tower. It had a far more potent purpose to its existence.

If the zanick was the key, the Omega Catalyszier was the lock. Together, they opened a really big door.

"You have all done well," affirmed the Alchemist, putting away the zanick and nodding her appreciation to her three subordinates. "But we still have much to do. Cervantes and the _Zenith_ will be here soon, as Cervantes wishes to claim all that I have for his own. It would be rude not to have a proper reception prepared for him."

* * *

Later that day, as the sunlight through Astrid's cell window faded away and a soft blue light kicked in from the ceiling, Astrid was going through the motions of her daily workout and trying to exercise out her anxiety. It wasn't working very well.

The more time she had on her hands, the more her fear for Hiccup took center-stage in her mind, and as anyone cooped up in a cell could tell you, time became all too abundant to a prisoner. Even a sweaty bout of one hundred pushups and one hundred sit-ups did little against her growing frustration.

It would've been easier if she had her freedom and her Nadder, Beatrix, at her side. Then she could turn her frustrations into a concerted effort to find Hiccup. She wanted to do something; anything was better than biding her time in prison, hoping the Alchemist's hospitality didn't go sour.

If she had her myssteel axe, she'd take out her anxiety on the furniture. Then again, if she had her axe, she'd be chopping her way out of prison. The Alchemist had it stashed somewhere – Astrid was pretty sure it had been strapped to her back when she teleported and thus not lost in the now-sunken Repository.

She was commencing another set of push-ups when her cell door rattled open. As a token form of protest, Astrid kept up her exercise instead of standing for the guard bringing in her dinner on a wooden tray. It was the feminine guard with the face-concealing helmet, and she appeared to be alone.

Any other time, Astrid would have used the guard's lapse in judgment to take her down, grab the keys, and flee the cell. But the Alchemist was a different breed of adversary, and she knew her first escape attempt was likely to end up her last. So for now, she merely treated the guard with indifference and continued her frustration-fueled exercising.

The guard put the dinner tray on Astrid's bed and stood over Astrid expectantly. Astrid thought the guard was going to get angry at the snubbing and start demanding respect, but instead the guard moved to the door, shoved the window's security slat closed, and then closed the door before returning to Astrid.

"We don't have much time, Astrid," the guard said, her voice a more natural tone than before. "Get up so we can talk."

Astrid stopped in mid-pushup and looked up at the guard, baffled. "I'm sorry, but did we become friends when I wasn't looking?"

The guard appeared flummoxed, as if she had expected a different reaction. "You honestly can't tell it's me? And here I thought you were just playing dumb. I guess this helmet works pretty well."

Astrid finally stood up and was about to ask the guard what she was on about when the guard grabbed Astrid's right hand and gently placed it over Astrid's mouth. "Hold it there for a second while I take off the helmet. We don't need you blowing my cover just yet."

It was a good call, as the moment Heather took off her helmet, spilling her black pony tail onto her left shoulder and revealing her pretty face, Astrid let out a "_Mmm-mmm?_" through her gagged mouth so loud that it still might have echoed out into the hallway had the door not been secured.

Heather snapped a finger to her lips and emphatically shushed Astrid. Wide-eyed and mind reeling, Astrid nodded and lowered her hand from her mouth. "Heather?" she whispered.

"The one and only," Heather said, smiling that infuriatingly confidant smile of hers. In the past, Astrid had found that charming smile grating, but she was so relieved to see a friendly face that she hugged Heather on impulse. Heather accepted the reception for a few moments before disengaging and taking a quick glance at the door, as if concerned that another guard would walk in on them unannounced. That probably _was _what she was concerned about.

"You honestly didn't know it was me?" asked Heather.

"I may have eventually figured it out, but I wasn't expecting you to be working for my mortal enemy… again," replied Astrid.

"It's a long story," said Heather. "As I imagine yours is. But if anyone could get on the bad side of the Alchemist, it'd be you and Hiccup."

"Was the Alchemist telling the truth about Hiccup?" asked Astrid. "Have you heard anything?"

"No, and I'm not high enough in the ranks to get that kind of information. Not yet, though. I have been ingratiating myself to the Alchemist after the two of you showed up in the storeroom I was guarding and wrecked everything." Heather stopped talking for a moment and listened for any footfalls from the hallway. "Listen, I'd love to swap tales with you, but the shift change is less than a minute away. I'm here to give you some advice before the other guy shows."

"How about giving me some pointers on how to escape this place?"

Heather shook her head. "The Alchemist wasn't kidding when she said you have nowhere to run. I've been working on a plan of my own for the last six months, and now that you're here I'll need a little more time to work you in. But if we start looking too chummy, that's it for both of us. So right now, do us both a favor and do not try to escape."

Astrid wanted to tell her that she had already decided to hang tight for now, but it wasn't necessary to mention it. Astrid nodded instead.

"And we can't meet like this, especially not in your cell," said Heather. "I'll get you some exercise time under my supervision, but it might take a few days to arrange. The Alchemist is _really_ uptight right now."

Astrid nodded again, and Heather gave Astrid a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Astrid. I still owe you for what you did for my parents. There's no way I'm leaving you locked up here. That's my promise."

A series of footfalls came to their ears, Heather's face growing serious as she grabbed her helmet and donned it once more. She motioned for Astrid to continue her exercising as she went to the door and unlatched it. Astrid was already on her fifth pushup when the door closed, latched and locked. The viewing slat was pulled back and Astrid could hear Heather (using her deep voice again) talking to another guard and explaining why she had dropped off the prisoner's dinner by herself. Something about the prisoner acting too calm and polite, which made her suspicious. Heather then spun it into wanting to be appointed as Astrid's primary guard so she could keep an eye on the prisoner. The other guard seemed thrilled with the idea. Guarding prisoners was such a boring job most of the time.

Astrid ceased her exercise and went to her bed, eying the tray adorned with a meager beef shank with little hunger. She should've felt much better knowing Heather was here and on her side, but in truth her situation hadn't changed much at all. She still had to play the waiting game for now, and she was relying on someone whose past record on trustworthiness was less than sterling.

* * *

With little else to think about that didn't involve feeling helpless, Astrid nibbled on the overcooked beef shank and thought about the first time she and Heather had crossed paths. The Dragon Squad had found her near a shipwreck off of Berk, Heather claiming to have escaped from a group of pirates that had ambushed her parents' longboat. Chief Stoick allowed her to stay in Berk until he figured out what to do with her, and she quickly warmed up to everyone else in the gang, learning the ins and outs of dragon riding and the proper way to train them. The boys had been particularly smitten with her, including Hiccup. Though Astrid was loathe to admit it, watching Hiccup give Heather dragon rides on Toothless had made her feel like sheering off Heather's pony tail at the scalp. It had helped speed along her suspicions that Heather wasn't the innocent girl she let on to be.

Of course, Astrid had been right. She could sniff out shady dealings better than any black market merchant. Heather had been doing research on behalf of Alvin the Treacherous, who was trying to learn how to train his own army of dragons to use against Berk. She even managed to steal the Dragon Manual, also known as the Book of Dragons, which contained the village's collected wisdom on dealing with dragons, including training them. Worse of all, she successfully delivered it to Alvin.

Captured by the gang and brought back to Berk, Heather confessed that while her story was full of half-truths, she hadn't lied about everything. It wasn't pirates that were holding her parents, but Alvin. He had forced her to go to Berk and get in nice with Hiccup, figuring a young lass had a better chance of getting Hiccup to cough up dragon training tips than an exiled psychotic Viking. Heather proved to be pretty good at her task, but her only desire was to free her parents from Alvin.

Long story short, Astrid infiltrated Outcast Island disguised as Heather (they were about the same size, and the Outcasts weren't known for their intelligence) and with help from Hiccup and the Squad, as well as a repentant Heather, she was able to retrieve the Dragon Manual and Heather's parents. Everyone ultimately forgave Heather for her actions, citing extenuating circumstances, and Heather was counted as a friend. They had even flown out to visit Heather from time to time, or had her come to Berk for a celebration or two.

Even Astrid had come around on befriending Heather, because she knew it wasn't fair to judge Heather harshly. She might have taken the same actions if her parents had been in a similar predicament. All that said, Astrid still held a slight grudge against Heather. Not about their first meeting, but about the _last_ one. More precisely, the last meeting between her and Hiccup, the one that occurred seven months ago, the one Hiccup never talked about. Astrid had always suspected that something serious had transpired during that meeting, because all of a sudden the visits to Heather's village had ceased completely. Heather also stopped sending letters about that time.

Astrid had no doubt that Heather would help her, regardless of the past. Heather had risked a lot coming to Astrid in her cell, and she could've revealed her friendship with Astrid in order to curry favor with the Alchemist. Heather was on her side, without question.

Still, that didn't mean things couldn't get awkward. In fact, Astrid had a feeling that _awkward_ was the best she could hope for.


	3. The Old Homestead

**Chapter Two: The Old Homestead**

The mountain that had stood over the doors to Qiao's old homestead had never been much of one, height-wise. Cartographers could argue endlessly about whether it was a high hill or a low mountain. But it had shrunk over the eons as weather and seismic activity whittled it down stone by stone, littering the island around the base of the mountain with gigantic heaps of broken rock. If the mountain had an ego to nurture, it could take consolation in that it took up seventy percent of the island and that it had such sheer slopes that only the heartiest of mountain climbers would dare tackle it – assuming any wanted to bother.

Qiao had witnessed the steady erosion of the mountain over her young life. Every time Alche took her out to explore the world after a "jump", the mountain always seemed a little shorter, the rock piles a little larger. But the doors to her home were never touched by the rockslides, no matter how numerous they became. The same magic that preserved the ancient home of the Alchemist had deflected the rocks to the side. The doors were always free of debris. They opened every time.

As Qiao stared at the open doors to her old home and regarded the malformed boulders that now littered the pathway, she knew the magic was gone from the place. Never had the doors been laid open for the entire world to see. Never did the rocks gather to obstruct the path.

Alche wasn't here any longer, and she'd taken "home" with her.

"A magnificent doorway, Qiao," remarked Captain Linebreaker, standing next to her in his flowing outfit, his hands on his hips. "I doubt an army of battering rams could breach those doors, had they been sealed."

"I don't know," said Qiao. "We never had an army show up to try."

The doors were deliberately plain, painted tan as so to blend in with the rocks. The doors were utterly boring to look at. Qiao understood Linebreaker's comment was more for her benefit than an honest statement. So far, this homecoming was proving very different than she imagined.

"Shall we see what the others have found?" asked Linebreaker. "Or do you wish to stay out here and take watch?"

"Watch for what, rabid seagulls?"

Linebreaker laughed at the jest and began threading his way to the doors. Qiao shrugged and followed, having to be extra careful not to get her new bow caught on the wayward rocks. Like her old bow, this new bow (what she called the Dragon Fire bow because, well, why not) accompanied her everywhere, and it was especially important to have it handy when you were in enemy territory, even when enemy territory used to be friendly.

The hard dirt of the path felt very reassuring to Qiao, who was very much sick of sea travel after spending the last two weeks stuck on _Ship_ with a sulky dragon and a frost queen of a Seer. All those days of travel had been required to find the island, delays caused by weather, supply requirements, and because Qiao had forgotten some of the landmarks. In her defense, it had been four years since she'd gone home, and she wasn't much of a navigator. They also took a day to circle the island at long range so they could spot any signs of a base or fortress, something that indicated habitation. They wanted as few surprises as possible before walking up and knocking on the door.

Arc had scouted around while Shrouded, and he hadn't detected any threats. Not a single Hunter Platform or an archer's tower with archers scrambling about or any ominous fog banks. Not a single solitary sign of the Alchemist or her forces. As Arc rightly pointed out, a ship the size of the _Zenith_ needed a substantial dock to launch from. Even if the dock was destroyed after the ship was built and launched, there should have been remnants and ruins left behind.

At least the doors were still standing, so Qiao had the right island. But Alche must have anticipated Qiao spilling the beans about home sweet home and had set up shop somewhere else. Another deserted island, most likely, as the coasts were too heavily traveled to keep a secret base secret for long.

She reached the threshold of the doorway, stopping to peer inside and see what there was to see. The ceiling rose to around fifteen feet high, the stone smoothed out neatly and efficiently and with minimal decoration. Alche eschewed home decorations; she filled her living spaces with artifacts and inventions, but rarely did she hang anything on the walls or paint a fresco. Her fellow Artisans had plenty of love for art and ambiance; to Alche, if it didn't have historical or conventional usage, it was unnecessary.

It was why Qiao was bewildered by the sheer emptiness that loomed before her. Outside of Arc, the Thunderchild Hyperion who was poking his long neck into every corner of the main hall, and Saga, who seemed content to stand in the middle of the room with her eyes closed, there was absolutely nothing else in the hall. Much of the room was shadowed, though the bright sunlight streaming through the doorway kept the shadows from becoming total. But shadowed or not, it was obvious Alche had clean it out and left it in the dust… literally. A thick layer of dust had settled over everything, mostly dirt blown in through the open doorway. It was marked by the footprints of human and dragon explorers, as well as numerous small critters who might be residing in the cracks and recesses of Qiao's former home.

There were other rooms in the place, but they were no doubt just as empty. All she would find here were memories of her childhood amidst the dust and shadows, memories that couldn't help them with their current problems.

Bewilderment gave way to anger as she lingered in the doorway. "How could Alche toss aside our home so easily? She didn't even bother to close the doors."

Linebreaker was too engrossed in exploring the domicile to attempt comfort this time. That task went to Arc, who strolled up to Qiao with a contemplative look in his eyes. Comfort, however, was not in his job description.

"Did you not abandon this place as well?" pointed out Arc.

"Well, yeah, but I was leaving it in Alche's hands. I knew she'd take care of it." Qiao threw up her hands in resignation. "One more thing I was wrong about."

"If this is difficult for you, you need not stay any longer," advised Arc. "None of us need to."

"I beg to differ," replied Saga, who hadn't moved from her spot in the middle of the hall since Qiao had arrived at the door. She apparently found that one spot very interesting, because right as she declared her opposition to leaving she also sat down and crossed her legs, adopting her traditional meditative stance.

"I feel something here," clarified Saga. "This room once held something of great power, did it not?"

"It held a lot of things," said Qiao. "Books, artifacts, Alche's collection of exotic candles, the T-Node…"

"The T-Node," interrupted Saga. "The trace is similar to the feeling I experienced back in the Repository, when you were showing off the artifact in question. The artifact seems to warp reality around it to a degree. I feel closer to my vision state the longer I stay here."

Arc said nothing, but Qiao could see his interest pique at the mention of the device, the one that had spirited Nestor, Hiccup, and Toothless away from the Repository. Qiao knew how badly Arc wanted to go searching for Nestor. The dragon was nowhere near as good at concealing his feelings as Saga, who had gone full-on ice queen after Astrid's death and had maintained her frosty demeanor ever since. Qiao had caught Arc sulking up on the deck of Linebreaker's vessel on numerous occasions, Arc looking out to the horizon like it was beckoning him.

Qiao had wanted to tell him to get on with it. Forget duty and saving the world and go find his wayward apprentice. She wanted to tell him that, but she never did. She knew he wouldn't listen, might even take offence at the notion of abandoning those around him for his own selfish pursuits. Truly noble people, dragon or human, were also truly stubborn people.

"I wish to remain here for now," continued Saga, closing her eyes and bowing her head as if the discussion was already over.

"Is this really going to do us any good?" questioned Qiao.

"Let her try," said Arc. "We have nothing else to go on. Let us leave her to her meditation."

"What if there's something hiding in the other rooms? We can't leave her unguarded."

"I smell nothing dangerous. She is safe in here," Arc reassured

"I still wish to explore this place, though," said Linebreaker, preparing a torch for lighting. "Who knows? Perhaps the Alchemist left behind some old clothes that I might steal some dress ideas from. If you two wish to be elsewhere, I will watch over Saga."

Qiao decided the offer was good. She really didn't want to stay any longer. Even spending a scant five minutes in her old home brought up too much old junk, and unlike Alche she preferred to keep history in the past.

* * *

Not far from the entrance, Qiao found a suitable rock to park her rear on that also gave her a good view of the surrounding island. From her elevated position, it would be nigh impossible for anyone to sneak up on her… unless they were Shrouded or invisible. Which was why she had Arc around to cover that angle.

The lean, green dragon found his own perch and settled down on his stomach. He gave the immediate area a good look and seemed satisfied that they were safe. He also checked on _Ship_, which was beached at the one sandy spot on the island. Arc would have no trouble pulling it off the beach later, or so Arc claimed.

"You were quick to let Saga do her thing," said Qiao to Arc. "I thought you didn't put much stock in visions."

"Young Saga has proven exceptional," said Arc. "I see no harm in letting her try."

"Or maybe you're being nice to her," said Qiao with a sly smile. "Admit it, underneath all that dragon scale and stoic attitude, you're a softie." Qiao's smile widened when she got a decent eye roll out of the dragon.

"I merely wish to keep our ally in fighting shape," he replied. "She has taken Astrid's fall and Nestor's disappearance hard."

"So you did know about those two," said Qiao. "Nestor and Saga."

"Yes," grumbled Arc.

"Hey, what's with the disapproval? I figured you'd want Nestor to find someone."

"I fear Saga isn't capable of giving him what he deserves," he explained.

Qiao chucked lightly. "I get it. Dad's being protective of his son."

Arc gave her another irritated glare. "He's not my son, Young Qiao."

"Keep telling yourself that. But for what it's worth, I think Saga _is_ capable, in her own way. She just needs time to come back out of her ice shell again."

Arc looked at her funny. "You're defending Young Saga? _You_?"

Qiao shrugged. "We're not pals, Arc, and I know she doesn't have a high opinion of my line of work, but I don't wish anything bad for her. Besides, the happier she is, the more tolerable she becomes."

Arc accepted this without further argument. "Sometimes, I think you're more enlightened than I am."

"Me?" Qiao let out a snarky laugh. "I don't know anything. I just feel like I owe Saga and you and everyone big time. You guys came and saved me, a petty thief with only a colorful history to my name."

"That's not all you are, Young Qiao," said Arc.

Now Qiao was looking at Arc funny. Something about the way he said that triggered remembrance of a meaningful subject that Qiao had held off on until now.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, almost accusingly.

Arc seemed caught off-guard by Qiao's response, and he paused to think up the right response. "I was merely attempting to reassure you."

"Yeah, I don't think so," said Qiao, giving Arc a suspicious glare. "You know, I've had a lot of time to think on Alche and why she kidnapped me. She had me stand on that locking mechanism to the Repository door. That's the only thing she needed me for. And while I was standing there, I noticed a bunch of writing on the floor that I'm pretty sure was Ancient Artisanae. Alche never taught me to read it, but I did notice that the writing under my spot wasn't the same as the writing under her spot. Two different requirements to opening the door. At the time, all I was caring about was living to see another day, so I didn't think about it much.

"Later on, after Alche found her zanick stone, the thing she had gone through all that trouble to recover, she tells me about Ancestors. No reason for the subject to come up, or so I thought. She tells me that the reason they got along so well with the Artisans was because they looked _human_. Their natural talent was to shapeshift to resemble a human, to walk among them like another warm-blooded hairless ape. She said that Ancestor babies started off looking human and had to _learn _how to shapeshift into a dragon form.

"I'm not Alche, Arc. I don't figure things out as quickly as she can, and I've had plenty of other things on my mind lately. But I do pay attention, and I don't forget things quickly. Just like I know that you were the one that opened the doors to the Repository after Alche closed them again. Which means you know why Alche needed me, or at least you have a good idea why. I haven't asked until now because we're trying to find Alche's old base and stop her toys from falling into the wrong hands. But I don't think I can wait any longer for an answer."

Qiao fixed Arc's reptilian eye with her own, a silent plea contained in her stare, a plea for a real answer and no more riddles. "Arc, am I an Ancestor?"

Arc didn't look away, didn't dodge the question or even look uncomfortable in the slightest. His causal demeanor faded away and was replaced by his Hyperion nature – stern, knowing, all business. Perhaps it was the only way he could approach such a profound and touchy subject, and even before Arc spoke Qiao had already determined what his answer would be.

"I have only my suspicions, Young Qiao," he said, "but… yes, I believe you are."

Qiao took the news better than she imagined. She had already half-expected an answer in the affirmative. She didn't feel like panicking or flipping out or dramatically running off into the wilderness to cry her eyes out. Honestly, she didn't know what to feel.

The first emotion that came to her was betrayal, not from Arc but from Alche. Her adopted mother, who had looked out for her in so many different ways, had kept this important detail secret all her life. Alche, who had raised her as human, who had claimed that the Ancestors were as extinct as the saber-tooth tiger, had lied to her about her true nature.

Betrayal became anger, and she had to look away from Arc as bitter tears began to form under her eyes. She gazed out at the calm sea, hoping to find something floating out there that might turn her mind away from the pain of Alche's actions. But there were only rippling sea waves and lines of drifting kelp. Nothing to divert her mind from the hurt.

Arc kept silent as Qiao dealt with the revelation, patiently waiting for her to make the first move. He predicted she would need some time alone to sort things out, that her first response would be to ask him to leave. He almost offered to do so anyway, but his desire to remain kept the words in his mouth.

"Was I nothing but a key to Alche?" Qiao finally said. "All that mothering and adventuring and tutoring and everything she did for me, just so I could open a door down the road?"

"Does that make sense to you?" Arc quietly asked.

"No, it doesn't. So what did she want for me?" Qiao wiped her face, still staring at the sea rather than face the dragon and his all-knowing gaze.

"Perhaps she didn't want anything from you, Young Qiao," said Arc. "Perhaps she really did care for you."

"Or perhaps she was doing what she always did – keeping all the secrets so she could keep all the power. Seriously, who keeps a secret like that from someone they care about?"

"I can't answer for the Alchemist, Young Qiao," said Arc. "I can't tell you if she had the best of intentions or only her own. But I suspect that she believed you'd be better off not knowing."

She laughed ruefully. "You're right about that. What am I supposed to do with this, Arc? I don't know what it means to be an Ancestor. Not a single thing. I suppose you could give me pointers…"

"I cannot," Arc interrupted. "I wish I could, but the Hyperion essence I wield contains little direct knowledge on the Ancestors, and the other Hyperion can offer little more. When the Ancestors created the Hyperion, it was to preserve their knowledge, not themselves."

Giving up on the sea as a source of solace, she finally looked at Arc, her anger slipping away as an uncomfortable feeling of helplessness moved in. "What happens now? What if I'm walking down the main street of Riki Poka and I suddenly sprout scales all over my skin and claws shoot out of my fingers? Will I look like you someday?"

Arc smiled at her supportively. "Young Qiao, if you haven't sprouted scales yet, you probably never will. Shapeshifting is a conscious power, one that has to be learned."

"But what about magic and all that junk? Weren't the Ancestors so powerful that they were kicking Artisan butt all over the place?"

"They were, but much of their power came from skill and knowledge. There is an innate quality to the Ancestors that made the mystical arts easy for them to learn and control. I imagine that you have the same quality, and that may be the reason why your new bow responds to you as it does."

Qiao looked at her bow, which rested on a nearby rock, and shrugged indifferently. "So… you're saying I'm special, but not really."

"You're the same person you were ten minutes ago," said Arc. "The same person you were when you got out of bed this morning. The same person who arrogantly entered my campsite a month ago looking for excitement and a trinket to collect. The same person… that I gladly call a friend."

Qiao couldn't help but smile at Arc. Most days, Arc was as comforting as a blanket embedded with wood slivers. But when he pulled it off, it was very effective.

"What about you?" she asked, her tone having lost its severity. "Don't you get the heebie-jeebies being around the last member of the people who created the Hyperion?"

"_You_ didn't create anything," said Arc. "But… it is somewhat disconcerting, nonetheless."

"Really? Are you feeling any urges to worship me?"

Arc rolled his eyes once more. "No."

A genuine laugh escaped from Qiao. "It was worth a shot."

* * *

Several hours went by as Qiao and Arc set up camp near the doors, clearing a spot for bedrolls, building a fire pit, and preparing a catch of fish for dinner. The weather looked questionable in terms of potential rain, with storm clouds skirting the horizon to the east, but all had agreed that a night of slumber on dry land was worth the risk.

Every hour, Qiao or Arc went to check on Linebreaker and Saga. They found the same sight each time – Saga sitting as quiet as a tombstone in the middle of the entrance hall and Linebreaker questing for a trinket from the recesses of Alche's old home. So far, Linebreaker's efforts amounted to a torn rag from what he believed was a storeroom. That, and a few empty, rotted barrels, was the extent of his success.

Saga didn't respond to Qiao's offer of cooked trout. So absorbed in her meditation was Saga that she didn't flinch at all when Qiao tapped her on the shoulder. Arc wasn't worried about it, so Qiao didn't press the issue. But they couldn't let her stay like this forever.

After sunset, the old entrance hall began feeling ten times as spooky as before, with every shadow growing bigger and deeper. Linebreaker gave up his treasure hunt and took turns with Qiao and Arc on guard duty. Two of them stayed at the camp while one of them sat with Saga, using torches to keep the darkness at bay. Since these kinds of long trances were outside Linebreaker and Qiao's area of expertise, all agreed to let Arc determine when Saga's meditation had gone on too long.

Halfway though the night, while Linebreaker and Arc slept at the camp, Qiao was in the hall with a non-responsive Saga when her patience finally gave out. She wanted a lead on the Alchemist's hidden base as badly as Arc and Linebreaker, but Saga's comatose state was starting to freak her out. It'd been almost twelve hours since she began. She should be hungry, thirsty, keeling over from exhaustion, complaining that her legs had gone asleep. This was not normal, even by Qiao's standards of normality.

Qiao adopted a new strategy – do something Qiaoish and then feign ignorance when it inadvertently disturbed Saga. And there was nothing more Qiaoish than archery.

Using a torch and some ash from the campfire, Qiao marked three crude bull's-eyes on the far wall of the entrance hall. She stood just ahead of Saga so that there was no chance of hitting the Seer with stray arrows, but the whole practice session would be right there in Saga's face.

"See if you can ignore this," said Qiao.

The hall lit up as strings made of pure energy formed on her bow, connecting her fingers to the ancient weapon. She felt no tension from the magic strings, which had initially distracted her until she got used to it. A child could wield the bow as easily as an adult, a frightening concept considering the power of the arrows it launched.

One such arrow formed in the bow's center. Qiao aimed and let fly, the energy arrow zooming out and pegging the first target dead center with a loud smacking sound. The arrow stuck right in the hard stone as easily as a regular arrow penetrated a tree trunk… and there it stayed, as opposed to exploding.

Qiao glanced Saga's way to note any response. There was none. Qiao grunted and fired another arrow and pegged the next bull's-eye, the impact reverberating through the empty sanctum. Saga ignored it just the same.

"You should be impressed right now," Qiao said loudly. "I figured out how to create arrows that act like real arrows, not the exploding kind. They last for a few minutes or until I wish them gone. It's what you call precision, something you talk about all the time. But no, you're just going to sit there like the pain in the butt you are and check out of life."

Qiao turned around and faced Saga directly, scowling in disapproval at Saga's continuing silence. "You're going to make me do this, aren't you? Get all touchy-feely." She sighed. "Fine. Look, I know it's been rough. You lost a good friend, and I know you don't have many good friends, what with your winning personality and everything. And even though Arc keeps saying Nestor's alive because he still feels the connection, Heaven knows that wouldn't be enough to make me feel better. Just don't use all that as an excuse to sleep for the next year or two. You'll never hear me say this again, but we need you. So… stand up already so we can get out of here."

Saga remained unresponsive, and what little patience Qiao had to begin with was now fully used up. "What gives, Saga? I know you wake up when Nestor asks you to. What does he do, snap his fingers?"

To emphasize the point, Qiao snapped the fingers in her right hand. Simultaneously, the two energy arrows sticking in the wall behind her chose that moment to detonate.

The resulting wave of force shoved Qiao forward, right into Saga. The room went full dark as the torch stand fell over, a thick cloud of smoke obscuring the fallen embers. Qiao had the presence of mind to cover Saga defensively with her own body, though the move proved unneeded as nothing bigger than a pebble smacked either woman.

After waiting for the ringing in her ears to lessen, Qiao stood up and activated the strings on her bow, giving the room some needed light. Through the flickering wafts of smoke she saw two holes where two bull's eyes used to be. Not so wide as they were deep, as the arrows tended to funnel their explosive power forward, but the wall would need serious repair.

Qiao let out a half-laugh, half-groan. "Well, I've always told Alche that wall needed more character."

"It appears your control over your weapon remains a work in progress."

Qiao turned around to find Saga sitting on the floor, wearing a new layer of dirt on her uniform and an amused smirk to boot. Qiao kept the groan forming in her throat from getting out. It never failed – try to be a friend, no dice; give Saga something to lord over her for the next few whiles, she's wide-awake.

"How was I supposed to know that making hand gestures did that?" defended Qiao. "Alche didn't leave an instruction manual with this thing."

"Then it is best you understand your weapon more intimately before long," said Saga, standing up and brushing off loose debris from her clothes. "The sooner, the better."

Qiao caught the veiled implication in Saga's words. "Does this mean you have something for us?"

Saga nodded solemnly, her face rigid and professional. No hint at anything positive to say, it seemed, and that bugged Qiao more than having Saga ignore her juvenile disturbance attempts. Qiao thought she'd feel relieved at this point, but she now had the sinking feeling that they were really in for it, that Saga knew where to chart their next course and that their destination involved a hornet's nest, a cliff, a waterfall, or a combination of the three.

Maybe she should've let Saga meditative longer.

* * *

Qiao once joked that Saga was a machine, a bunch of cogs and wheels and pulleys cobbled together to look like a human. A weapon made of flesh and bone instead of wood and steel, one that happened to have a brain stuck on one end so it didn't have to be operated or wielded. It explained a lot of things about Saga's demeanor, and it gave Qiao a new way to poke fun at Saga.

These days, Saga wished such a jest was the truth. Weapons had no emotions. Weapons didn't feel.

Try as she might to make it otherwise, the emotionless act she had put in place since Astrid's fall and Nestor's disappearance was only an act. A few months ago, she wouldn't have had any difficulties dealing with the loss of her comrades in battle. The Gunnarr were a cold people, more so than most Viking tribes. You expected death in battle, you yearned for such a fate, and so you didn't become attached to your fellow warriors. The role of the Seer was even lonelier. The power to see the future drives away the faint-hearted and the superstitious, while it attracts those who would seek to use the visions for their own selfish ends. To be the Seer was to be isolated, alone.

Saga had gotten used to it, had prepared for a life of duty to her people. But then the Dragon Rider had come into her life. Then Astrid befriended her. Then Nestor went and changed everything else. Suddenly she wasn't alone any longer, and instead of being scared and on guard against betrayal, she found pleasure in the company of others, of using her power as a tool to help others. They did not worship her, nor did they fear her. She was not the Seer any longer – she was Saga.

And they were all gone, and it hurt. A warrior couldn't afford to feel such things, not if she planned on surviving the next battle. She understood the wisdom of her Gunnarr heritage, and she sought to turn her thoughts to ice and her feelings to stone.

It was easier to be the Seer. Being Saga hurt too much.

But she couldn't quite get back to being the Seer. Every time she caged up the grief and anger within her, it found a way out. Sometimes it came as a memory of Astrid's feeble but unwavering attempts to best her in sparring. Other times it was Nestor's feeble but unwavering attempts to get Saga to lighten up. It was the memories with Astrid that hurt more, because while she could convince herself that Nestor still lived, there was no reassurance for Astrid. She had fallen in the Repository, and the ocean had fallen in after her. She was as gone as gone could be.

So all there was for her was the present now, where she sat on a lumpy rock with a mug of water in one hand and a flap of cooked fish meat in the other, her eyes on the dying fire in the center of the camp. The fire helped to focus her thoughts on the matter at hand, instead of the other matters she didn't want to dwell on but always came back to.

Arc, Qiao, and Linebreaker sat around the fire, listening to her recite the basic thrust of her vision quest. She did not tell them that much of her meditation had been her exhausting efforts to quell her troubled spirit to the point where the vision state would take hold. She had lost all track of time in the process; it had been one of her longest stints of meditation. The sun had been high in the sky when she started. Now only the faintest of sky glow could be seen in the east. She was fatigued from her session, but sleep would not find her until she told the others what she knew.

"I was shown many things in the vision state," she explained, "and while it was more jumbled and incoherent than usual, like I was watching a performance troupe run several plays at the same time, all on the same stage, I understood one troubling certainty – the sky is still fated to come alive, and soon."

"That is not surprising," said Arc, managing to keep the skeptical tone out of his voice for a change. "The Alchemist's power remains in Cervantes's hands. With time, he will learn how to use it, and I doubt he will pass up on using such a potent weapon as The Scouring."

"I… I am not sure about Cervantes," said Saga. "He is part of the problem, but he did not feel like the force of destruction he was in my previous visions, back when he vied for the Monolith. Someone else was there, leading the charge, though I could not see the person's face in the maelstrom of images. Some things were clearer than others - I saw powerful vessels in the ocean, similar to the Z_enith_ but not as formidable. I saw terrible, chaotic battles, on the ground and in the air. I saw two Night Furies locked in mortal combat, one covered in scales and the other covered in metal. I saw a city that could only be Riki Poka, and it was disintegrating under the might of the Scouring. I saw so many faces… too many to tell apart."

"This seems unhelpful," said Linebreaker. "Why would those who grant you these visions make it so difficult to decipher them?"

"Most days, the visions are clear," replied Saga, "though often incomplete. When I see too much all at once, it means the future is in utter chaos. Too many potential possibilities, too many forces at work. As we get closer to a definite future, my visions tend to grow calmer."

"Don't tell me we have to wait around until your visions sort themselves out," said Qiao. "That won't give us a lot of time to stop the end of the world."

"We do not have much time, regardless," said Saga. "But fear not. One of the clear moments in the chaos told me of the location of Sanctuary, as in the Alchemist's current headquarters."

"You mean former headquarters," said Arc.

Saga looked at the dragon as if thrown off by his clarification. Then she made the face people made when they thought they weren't wrong about what they said, yet couldn't come up with any memory or evidence to support it. Saga felt like what she'd said was correct: _current_ headquarters. But the Alchemist was dead, and her visions offered no direct evidence to the contrary… although, a few times…

"Saga?" asked Qiao. "You still with us?"

Saga jerked herself out of her ruminations and nodded. "Yes, former headquarters. That is where we must go, and now I know where we must look."

Qiao frowned. "No hints about what to expect when we get there? Because I really don't want to blindly walk into an enemy camp, especially one Alche used to run."

"Some things will come back to me as we near our objective," said Saga. "As I have said, the future becomes clearer as time goes on."

"Then let us not waste any more time," said Arc. He had in one claw-hand a nautical map that Linebreaker used for navigation, one he'd been studying for potential islands that could support the Alchemist's operation in the area. It was this map he now placed at Saga's feet.

"Can you point to it on the map?" he asked expectantly.

"No need," she stated. "We do not need a ship to get there." Her eyes left Arc and settled at the top of the old low mountain that they had been camping by for almost a day. The others looked at the mountain as well, then back at Saga, then at each other, then in random directions, then finally back at Saga once they all realized what she was saying and how little sense it made.

"_In_ the mountain?" asked Linebreaker.

"On top," clarified Saga.

"Impossible," said Arc, his skeptic's voice returning. "I flew all over this island, including the mountain. There were no indications…"

"This is Alche, though," Qiao said, studying the mountain more intently than before. "It's also her style. It's out of the way and hiding in plain sight. Anybody who knew about her old home, like me, would assume she left the island completely, not just moved to a higher elevation."

"She has a ship, Qiao," said Linebreaker. "She'd need a dock to secure it."

"This is _Alche!_ Trust me, she likes poking fun at quaint realities like ships needing dockyards."

Arc remained unconvinced. "I repeat, there was no sign of habitation up on the summit."

"Did you actually touch down on the summit, Hyperion?" said Saga.

"No, I didn't," shot back Arc, yet the simple observation made him revaluate his conclusions. "It was an empty, barren summit… very empty…"

"A little _too_ empty?" said Qiao. "Now that we mention it, the mountain looks a little bigger than I remember it. I thought I was having home jitters from being away for the last few years, but the mountain just doesn't seem right."

"So we're mountain-climbing, is that it?" asked Linebreaker unhappily. "I fear mountains and I don't get along."

"Why climb when we can fly?" said Qiao, gesturing to the large green dragon in their midst.

"We cannot, I fear," replied Arc. "If Sanctuary is on, or in, that mountain, then there are eyes watching the skies. My Shroud protects me from a distance, but it will not hide my riders."

Qiao's eyes got nervous all of a sudden. "By that logic, they may have seen our camp already. They may know we're here."

"I doubt it," said Linebreaker. "You don't post patrols or sentries in a location you want to remain hidden from the outside. That's smuggler's logic."

"We would have been attacked by now if we were being watched," said Arc. "I think we are safe for now, assuming there is anything to be safe from."

"There is," said Saga, as sure of this as she was of anything in her life. "For better or for worse, our answers lie on the mountain."

* * *

After naps were taken, the catch of the day devoured, and a few odds and ends acquired from Linebreaker's vessel, the camp was struck and cleaned of all incriminating signs of prior use. If surprise truly was on their side, they wanted it to last as long as possible.

It was decided that Saga would lead the way, as her visions had instilled within her knowledge on what trails to use and what pitfalls might assail them. Indeed, there actually was a trail up the side of the mountain, a faint one that the elements had almost eradicated. The fact that one even existed lent credence to Saga's story, as Qiao stated that she and Alche never had a need or a reason to climb the mountain themselves.

It really was a low mountain, a squat thing that offered a continuous array of broken rock and dead fronds. Even with the travel rough, they could easily scale the mountain in a day. They would have to spend the night on the slope, though, an unattractive idea but a necessary one if they were going to uncover Alche's headquarters.

While Linebreaker and Arc headed back to _Ship_ to ensure it was secured for an extended stay, Saga and Qiao stood at the foot of the mountain at the beginning of the trail, staring up at it and hoping to see a clue to Sanctuary's location. A glint of metal, a fuzzy image suggesting an illusion, a gull mysteriously blowing up in midair – anything unusual or deceiving. Neither of them had such luck, nor did they expect to. The Alchemist had kept herself, Qiao, Dark Star, and all her fancy gizmos and devices hidden from the world for twenty thousand years. When it came to deception, she didn't make mistakes.

"We never did name the mountain," commented Qiao as she gazed up said mountain. "Alche thought names were for important things, and the mountain was never important. I wanted to call it Dark Mountain, because that's where Alche found Dark Star thousands of years ago. Alche didn't like the name."

"Interesting," said Saga. "She refers to herself by her title, but she named you."

Qiao hadn't thought about that. "Yeah… that is interesting." Then she gave Saga a questioning look. "You know you did it again, right?"

Saga responded with a blank look. "Did what?"

"You talked about Alche in present tense, like she's still around."

Saga thought about it. As before, present tense simply felt right. Again, she had no clear vision to back up her feeling. She shrugged in a tired fashion. "I have not slept very well as of late. Chalk it up to fatigue."

Qiao wasn't ready to let it go. Once? Sure. Twice? That was a pattern. "You'd tell me if you knew something, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Saga emphatically said. "Why would you think I would hold back important information?"

"Well, honestly, you have that kind of face, like you know things. And I'm not sure you like me that much."

Saga looked back up the mountain, still seeing nothing to validate her visions. "When I meditate, I am not as closed off to the world as you may think. My mind exists in two places at once. Though I cannot see what transpires around me, I hear it quite well, though as if from a great distance. So I heard what you said to me in your old home… before you proceeded to destroy it."

Qiao tried to keep from looking humiliated at the remembrance of last night's follies. She did not succeed. "Yeah, about that…"

"We do not see eye to eye on many things, Qiao," said Saga, "but I do trust your intentions. I… I confess that I do not know how to deal with loss, despite having experienced much of it as of late. Rest assured, it will not impede my abilities."

"That's just it, though," said Qiao. "It _should_ impede your abilities. You're human, Saga…" Qiao paused, feeling insecure at discussing what constituted _human_ these days. "Humans feel and they mourn. You've lost a friend. It's okay to feel it."

Saga turned to Qiao, her eyes set firmly in her typical icy warrior persona. "Qiao, I have lost my father. My tribe has exiled me. My brother wishes me dead. I have not mourned during any of those events. Why would I start now?"

"Because I get the idea that none of that mattered as much as losing Astrid… or having the man you love disappear on you."

For a moment, something changed in Saga's eyes - a crack in the defenses, a wisp of emotion. Qiao had found a chink in the armor. There was a softer side to the warrior princess after all, despite Saga's best efforts to suppress it. But Saga was good at this game, and the crack sealed itself immediately, leaving only the Seer's frosty visage.

Then Arc's shadow passed over the two of them as he landed, and Saga used the moment to break off the conversation, discussing marching orders with a landlocked dragon. Qiao decided to let it be for now. Saga wasn't ready to talk. Besides, touchy-feely stuff really wasn't her area, and she'd screw it up eventually.

She gave the mountain one last good look. It was the same mountain she had lived by most of her life, but instead of being the boring landmark of her childhood it was something much more important… more dangerous… more sinister.

She had the feeling that this wasn't really a mountain. This was a waterfall running off a cliff where a bunch of angry hornets lived.


	4. Outpost 4

**Chapter Three: Outpost #4**

Garrett the Fat had little love of the sea, but he had even less love of the desert. It figured he would get a posting that gave him a great view of both.

A rotund man with no hair and no neck to speak of, the flabby fellow was technically in charge of Outpost #4 the same way a garbage collector was in charge of a landfill – no one else wanted the job. Outpost #4 was a supply depot along the northern coat of the African Continent. A private cove and a few precious gems given to the locals made the outpost nice and protected, though why the Alchemist had picked one of the most forsaken landscapes imaginable escaped Garrett. Look one way, nothing but blue. The other way, nothing but yellowish brown for miles and miles. Not a single shade of green to be had. Very depressing.

Garrett found it more appealing than the alternative jobs in the Alchemist's army. Soldier life didn't suit him, but he knew a winning side when it came knocking at his door. Being a village merchant with connections to grain sellers along the European coastline, he offered his knowledge of ample food supplies for the Alchemist's hungry troops in exchange for a position of leadership. And he got one, all right. The phrase _big fish in a small pond_ came to mind, but at least he was a big fish. Sure, the nine other men stationed with him gave him little real respect ("Fat" hadn't been part of his name until he arrived), but they towed the line more often than not.

He was on ocean watch duty, surveying the wide open horizon from a tiny elevated platform, watching for the _Zenith_ and other allied ships and well on his way to sweating out a second bucket from his armpits, when one of his men came up behind him and uttered the five most exciting words he'd heard in weeks.

_Night Fury in a cave._

He was naturally skeptical. A Night Fury out here in the desert? Those scaly death machines gave desert climates a wide berth. They were more cold-weather creatures. "Been at the special brew again, Marv?" he accused.

Marv's eager face shook with excitement. "No, no. Honest, there's a Night Fury laid up in one of the caves to the south. Corker and me were doing our routine patrol route when we saw it on its side, all sickly like. It must've flown in during the night."

"And you bid it hello, I imagine?" Garrett chided.

Marv clearly didn't pick up on the insincerity in Garrett voice. "No, no, we're not dim. We kept our distance. No dragon's lighting up my bum today. Funny thing is, Corker thought he saw a saddle on it."

_Saddle _was the word that sparked Garrett's interest. He looked down at Marv curiously. "Saddle?"

Marv nodded. "A riding saddle, like a horse. Crazy, right?"

"Right." Garrett wiped his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief as he recalled the bounties the Alchemist had put out to all the outposts, the last message he'd received from Sanctuary almost four days ago. The Alchemist wanted information on several interesting characters, one of which rode a black dragon with a false tail rudder. Chiefly, she wanted information on their current whereabouts and their activities, should they happen to be in the area. They were all considered dangerous and not to be approached.

Garrett had kept the bounty descriptions to himself, mostly to keep the men from getting wild ideas about collecting on them without his involvement. Marv didn't know there was a Night Fury with a saddle to look for. The moron had to be telling the truth.

An opportunity had landed at his chubby feet. He had grown tired of constant sweating and bland landscapes. He wasn't even sure if the outpost was necessary. In the year he'd been in charge, the Alchemist had shown up once in that giant ship of hers, and she barely spoke two words to him before she was off again with half of his food stock. If this Night Fury was connected to the bounties, capturing the beast might fish him out of this small pond and into a bigger one.

"Rouse the boys, Marv," Garrett said, climbing down from his perch. "We're going dragon hunting. And make sure they bring lots of rope."

* * *

Marv and Corker, anxious as men confronting dragons tended to be, did the dutiful thing and led Garrett and five other men to where they saw the injured Night Fury, leaving two men behind to keep an eye on the outpost. Garrett would have preferred to bring everyone, but there were a few things at the outpost that needed to remain safe and it would be a black mark on Garrett's record if the _Zenith_ or another allied ship sailed up to an unmanned outpost.

The other men had caught Marv and Cooper's anxiety, holding out the nets they had been outfitted with defensively, as if hardened rope would somehow defend against dragon fire. Garrett kept to the rear, his unfit physique disqualifying him from heroics. Not that it made him feel any less fearful – the only reason he was even going on this potentially-profitable outing was that he was carrying something other than a waterskin on him. Like the bounties, he hadn't told his men all that the outpost had at its disposal. There were definite privileges to being in charge of even a small pond.

Creeping as quietly as men anticipating angry flaming death could creep, the group was led to a large gully flanked by semi-steep sides and dotted with caverns of varying sizes. Water once flowed here, cutting a passage through the hard dirt untold eons ago, and occasionally water returned to the gully on the one or two days a year that it rained. Most of the caverns were too small to fit a man, much less your typical dragon, but there were two caverns that could offer shelter to such a beast. They sat on opposite sides of the gully, their entrances facing each other like a pair of open mouths.

Corker pointed to the one on the right, which was angled in the direction of the group. Murmurs broke out amongst the men as they saw the thing that had taken shelter inside, not far past the cave's threshold. Garrett made out the black feline-like dragon lying on its side, its wings folded in, a man-made saddle attached to its backside. Most fortuitously, it rested with its back to them, which played into their favor big time. It made it easier to catch the dumb beast by surprise. They might even get the nets on it before it knew what was happening.

Garrett motioned for his men to cluster around him, and he quickly rattled off his plan, which was little more than sneaking in, throwing the nets and wrapping up the dragon's mouth before it could fry them. This did not breed confidence in Garrett's men by itself, so Garrett had to sweeten the deal by offering a share of the bounty to everyone. That did the trick; men were surprisingly amenable to risking third-degree burns and severe lacerations when wealth became part of the picture.

As his men slowly crept toward the dragon, keeping to the softer earth to quiet their boots, Garrett hung back like a good leader should… well, a _smart_ leader. No sense getting in the men's way, or in the dragon's way if it turned out to be a tough customer. The dragon gave no indication that it was aware of the men closing in with their nets as it slumbered on its side. Blissfully ignorant, the way Garrett liked his victims.

One of his men stumbled over a rock and nearly tripped, swearing a salty phrase before Corker could get a hand over the dumb lout's mouth. Garrett had to resist calling the idiot out on his carelessness and made ready to bolt out of the gully. He had heard the fool's misstep from sixty yards away – the dragon was much closer.

The dragon didn't stir, didn't move an inch. Still asleep, though it was hard to be sure of that since its face was turned away. His men sighed in relief and continued to close in.

Garrett wanted to feel relief as well, but he didn't. This was starting to feel a little too easy. A dragon asleep inside a cave, with its back turned and in plain view of the outside world? Not a good move on the dragon's part, but then dragons were pretty brainless creatures, or so all the tales told him. Nothing more than eating machines with wings. This one had to be especially dumb to get captured and turned into a riding mount like a horse. Yet those same tales suggested they had good ears, and this one hadn't noticed a commotion right on its doorstep.

There was also the matter of the dragon's rider. The bounty description told of a skinny kid with a metal left foot, who commanded the beast from his saddle. The saddle was there, but no kid. Garrett assumed the rider had gotten separated from his dragon. Perhaps the rider was injured or even dead, lost out there in the dunes beyond the gully, which would make collecting his bounty very difficult. Then again, maybe the rider was here somewhere, further into the cave or…

Just as his men closed to within net-throwing distance, a strange yellow-green mist spewed out from the opposite cave, rushing out like a geyser of steam. It formed a transparent wall of swirling gas, cutting off Garrett from his men. Corker and the others stopped in their tracks and gawked at the odd phenomenon. Garrett gawked as well. There were no steam vents in this area, and the timing of the event was far too coincidental to be a natural occurrence.

By the time the word _trap_ formed in Garrett's panicking mind, the gas wall had becoming a flame wall, a burst of fire starting from the opposite cave and zipping across the gas trail, the churning airborne flames obscuring Garrett's men from view. Their voices remained perfectly clear as their screams of terror echoed back to Garrett, along with the sound of something large roaring out a greeting to them.

* * *

The wall of fire was only the first surprise in the lives of the suddenly-besieged men. The second took the form of a two-headed dragon that proceeded to emerge from the cave where all the flammable gas had come from, both heads shrieking hideous cries. Two youths rode the creature, one affixed to each head. Much like the twin heads of the beast, the two riders were strikingly similar in their appearance, and they yelled out their own battle cries as they came out into the sunlight.

Then the black dragon chose that moment to roll off its side and onto its feet, facing the bewildered men and baring its fearsome teeth. It bounded out of the cave and took position in front of the unobstructed side of the gully, blocking the men from exiting that way. The cave was still available for the men to run into, but only if they considered dead-ends an option.

The men took turns screaming, freezing in place, and fumbling with their nets as the world around them became abundant with fire and irate dragons. Even though the airborne fire was quickly fading into nonexistence, the fearful humans were reluctant to cross the scorch line in the dirt that marked the fire's path, afraid that they would burn if they did so. This allowed the two-headed dragon, which one of the men identified as a Zippleback, to move to the scorch line and block the other side of the gully. Now the men were properly trapped between two feisty dragons.

The two riders on the Zippleback took turns laughing and yelling, mostly to sell the idea that they were slightly crazy and capable of anything. Anyone who knew the Twins at all, Ruffnut and Tuffnut, would tell you that this wasn't all that far from the truth.

"Tremble and be afraid," said Tuffnut, "for you are in the presence of the Dragon Squad, and you've fallen for our diversion."

His sister broke off from her yelling to give him a dirty look. "Idiot, you're not supposed to call it that," she whispered.

Tuffnut visibly started, realizing his mistake. "… Diversion from your normal lives, which will never be normal again. Because now you're with Ruffnut and Tuffnut, super-powerful Vikings, and we'll light your pants on fire if you give us a reason."

Ruffnut sighed in annoyance. When it came to intimidation, the less Tuffnut said, the better. "Right, and if you think we're trouble, just trying messing with a Night Fury. He'll turn your bones to ash before you can take a step."

On cue, Toothless fired off a tiny plasma bolt that detonated right above the heads of the men, spreading weak flames that licked the hats and hair of the fearful men. They screamed, ducked, and patted their heads in panic.

Tuffnut laughed again. "So go ahead and take a seat, and we'll tell you when to stand up again. Try anything, and it'll get real hot for you real quick."

The show they had put on did the trick. Not an ounce of defiance to be had from the whole lot, as the men sat on the ground and trembled in anticipation of red hot death.

When the last man was seated in the dirt, Toothless then raised his neck to the sky and fired another fireball, which streaked up and airbursted in a dazzlingly display of blue flame. The men cowed their heads, assuming it another demonstration of the dragon's power.

The two heads of the Zippleback closed together so that Ruff and Tuff could high-five each other and talk quietly without getting overheard. "That went off without a hitch," whispered Tuff. "I forgot how good Hiccup's plans were. So how long do we wait here?"

"Until Hiccup and Nestor come for us," reminded Ruff. "Diversion, remember?"

Tuff made an unhappy face. "We just _wait_ here? We can't annoy them or anything?"

Ruff shook her head. "Hiccup wanted this clean and peaceful, and we're going to listen."

Tuffnut sighed. Three things he was not good at – cleaning, being peaceful, and listening - and he was supposed to do them all?

Ruffnut did a quick count of the men they had captured, making a face when the numbers didn't match up with what she expected. "Weren't there supposed to be ten of them?"

Tuffnut shrugged. "I don't know. Does it really matter? We've got most of them. I sure Hiccup and Nestor can handle the leftovers."

* * *

There were plenty of surprises to go around that day, and the two guards left at the outpost found three of their own.

They had decided to stand together on post, watching the dock and the sea as they had been instructed to do and exchanging fat jokes about their boss, when they saw their first surprise; a mysterious fireball in the sky to the south. It erupted over the spot where Garrett and the others had gone, a brilliant blue blast that faded as quickly as it appeared. It almost made them decide to investigate, but Garrett's orders were quite explicit and he was the only authority here at the outpost, so they held position despite their new misgivings.

The second surprise was when a young man walked up to them from out of nowhere. He must have walked around the building and along the dock while they were occupied with the explosion, and he'd managed to stay quiet despite the audible squeak in his false left foot. It was quite shocking to see anyone stroll in from the desert, much less a runt with a false left foot.

"Ah… hi," said Hiccup, waving casually. "I seem to have misplaced my dragon. Have you seen him?"

The two guards had little time to respond before the third and final surprise hit them… literally. A phantom figure took the occasion to come in from behind, grab their heads, and smack them together. They performed a synchronized slumping to the ground as the phantom figure strolled past them.

"Nice of them to stand together like that," said Hiccup as Nestor de-Shrouded and removed the guards' blades from their unconscious bodies. "Is that all of them?"

"Looks like," said Nestor, tossing the weapons into the water. "Ruff, Tuff, and Toothless must have corralled the rest, but we shouldn't count on them catching everyone."

"Then let's get what we came here for," said Hiccup. "You calling in Proto?"

Nestor tapped his head with one finger. "Already done. Sometimes it's handy to have a machine that can read thoughts. He's on his way."

Hiccup looked askance at Nestor. "_He?_"

Nestor shrugged. "Calling Proto _it_ all the time just feels awkward."

"Yeah, but _he?_ How can you tell?"

"I don't know. It just seems like a _he._ Besides, when you get your own Guardian, you can use whatever gender pronoun you want."

Hiccup let the matter drop and started looking for a door inside the salt-blasted brick structure adjacent to the dock. He made one out just as Proto came into view, flying out of the sea and hovering toward them like a floating steel seashell, water droplets pattering the dock below it. Nestor waved on his myssteel companion while Hiccup reflectively backed up a few steps as Proto came in for a landing, extending four tentacle legs from its metamorphic body for ground movement. The calm look on Nestor's face spoke of the ease he felt in the machine's presence, something Hiccup didn't share.

It remained surprising how quickly Nestor had incorporated Proto into his life, considering that Nestor's calling entailed destroying machines like Proto on a constant basis. Perhaps familiarity worked in Nestor's favor, because he didn't fear said machines. Hiccup had spent the last eleven days attempting to get used to Proto's company, but he wasn't quite ready to feel comfortable in the machine's presence. To be fair, it hadn't done a single thing to make him worry. Quite the opposite – it stood guard while they slept, it could tell of sand storms ahead of time and give them warning, and it was Proto that came up with an alternative route through the sky that maximized the wind currents in the area and shaved a few days off their travel plans.

No, the problem was what Proto _didn't_ do – chiefly, the matters of eating, sleeping, resting, crying out in pain, complaining about sand in every recess of your body, getting lost in the darkness, and smelling like old boots after a week without a decent bathing. Hiccup didn't want to get too dependent on something that could easily leave all of them in the dust out in the wastelands.

Well, again, to be fair, even if Proto had any ideas about abandoning them, it had lost the opportunity to leave them stranded in the Desolation. They had hit the coastline three days ago, and Hiccup didn't think he'd ever feel so happy again at seeing the great and bountiful ocean taking up the horizon. One whiff of the salty air and he felt like home wasn't as far away as before. The quality of the land hadn't improved much – a lot of barren, lifeless sand and rock, with scattered pockets of vegetation fed by springs and muddy streams. But they didn't have to struggle as hard to find food and water, certainly not when compared to their uneventful-yet-depressing trek through the Desolation. If not for Lothar's expertise with the desert, there would now be four human-sized skeletons buried in the sands alongside two dragon-sized versions.

The Skrill Hyperion that had befriended Hiccup during his ill-fated visit to the vast Desolation was currently gone on Hyperion business. He had led the group to the coast as promised, constantly feeling, and expressing, the pressure to get back on his journey to find and alert the other Hyperions on the growing threat of the former forces of the Alchemist. After everything he'd learned from Hiccup and Nestor, the seriousness surrounding her machinations and devices and the pure destructive power of her weapons, Lothar knew the other Hyperions had to be brought up to speed. Grateful for his help, Hiccup and Nestor convinced the Skrill that they'd be okay for now, what with the group's effective, if unorthodox, way of getting by. Lothar thanked them for their kindness and then promised that he'd come find them as soon as the opportunity availed. As long as they kept to their chosen route to Riki Poka, he would find them with little difficulty.

So what was the first thing they did? Go off course, naturally. The day before, Proto was flying with the rest of them when it suddenly starts techno-babbling about some kind of odd sensation, what it called a signal. Nestor played a game of twenty questions with it and they figured out that it had to be something called a conduit, a mystical means of communication that Nestor had a passing familiarity with. Proto's ability to sense mystical emanations had picked up on the "conduit" and it had led them here, to this rundown outpost in the middle of nowhere. A handy talent, sensing magic like that. Even Lothar's Hyperion-enhanced senses paled when compared to Proto's magic sniffer.

As Proto approached the outpost on newly extended insect legs, Hiccup glanced at the southern sky, forlornly hoping to see a black dot with wings flying his way. More so now than ever, he felt naked without Toothless at his back, at his side, or under his saddle. Not because Hiccup didn't feel safe – he trusted Nestor to handle any hard combat that came their way – but because of that terrible nagging fear inside him, the one that teased that Toothless would disappear on him if he didn't keep him close… just like how Astrid had disappeared.

Hiccup had to bludgeon such fears into submission on a daily basis, using what logic he could muster. It was the same logic that reminded him of his faith in Toothless and the dragon's ability to handle life's bitter conflicts. Right now, Toothless had his role to play, and the signal fireball that had burst into pretty blue flames a few minutes ago told him that Toothless was playing it as expected. His job was to act as a dead dragon possum, luring the unsuspecting men away from the outpost so that they didn't get the chance to hide or destroy the special thing Proto had detected, the one creating the conduit.

Once Proto stood next to the two young men, Nestor motioned at the entrance to the building. "Proto, can you fit?"

_This unit's torso can accommodate a wide variety of entrance and egress points,_ explained Proto in its fake-type voice. Hiccup took the answer as a roundabout way of saying yes.

"Go in and follow the mystical conduit to its source," instructed Nestor. "When you find it, bring it to me. Try not to make a mess while you're doing it."

_Will Human Nestor and Human Hiccup assist in search?_ asked Proto.

"Not much point," said Hiccup. "We don't know what to look for. Besides, we should stay out here and watch for trouble."

The answer satisfied Proto, the machine turning to the door and applying a tentacle to the handle. The handle didn't budge, so the Guardian did what any practical mind unburdened with the worries of subtlety would do – it sent two more tentacles to the door hinges and grasped them, digging its pinchers into the wood with frightening efficiency. The three tentacles retracted all at once, and with one snap-and-yank the door came free. Proto then gently placed the door on the ground, as if keeping the door in one piece somehow meant it had not technically made a mess.

Then it proceeded to squeeze its body through the door. Hiccup and Nestor watched in amazement as Proto's torso shifted and elongated, narrowing to a sausage-like contour that allowed it to move through without damaging the door frame… not counting the damage already done to the ruined hinges.

Once Proto disappeared inside, Nestor turned and gave Hiccup a dopey half-smile. "We're still working on the concept of subtlety."

"I'm surprised it didn't just walk through the wall," commented Hiccup. "Then again, Ruff and Tuff would have blown half the wall down instead." He gave the south another look. "Speaking of the Twins, I really hope they're taking this seriously."

"I think Ruffnut is," said Nestor. "She wants to turn over a new leaf, if you recall."

"I've known those two all my life," said Hiccup. "The only leaves they turn over are the ones they use for hiding booby traps in the forest."

"People can surprise," Nestor casually stated.

"Speaking of surprises," said Hiccup, "why didn't you just sneak in Shrouded and steal the conduit thingy?"

Nestor ticked off the reasons on his fingers. "I didn't know what to look for, there were too many men to avoid contact with, and I can't keep Shrouded forever. I was nervous just scouting out the place ahead of time."

"But you think this mystical conduit is worth all the trouble?"

Nestor nodded emphatically. "I'm pretty sure this is an Alchemist outpost, and if Proto detects a mystical conduit in use, it's probably being used for communication with the Alchemist's main base. It's probably within a device the Alchemist created, which means something we can take with us."

"Assuming it's not the size of a house."

"Assuming. And if Proto can figure out how to work it, like he figured out the T-Nodes, we might be able to use it to lead us back to the Alchemist's home base."

"Assuming Proto understands True Alchemy."

"Assuming. Even if he doesn't, Arc can make use of it. Arc knows how to take control of conduits if the need arises."

"So this means we're still headed for Riki Poka and not running headlong into the Alchemist's old headquarters if we find it, right?" Hiccup hoped he didn't sound too much like he was questioning Nestor's wisdom. He wanted to find the Alchemist's base as much as Nestor did – a little something called _payback_ was in order – but he didn't want to lose anyone else if he could help it. They would definitely need the team reinforced and reunited to take on the remnants of the Alchemist's forces.

Nestor took no offense and merely nodded. "The plan's the same as before. But this way, if we strike gold, we'll have another gift to present Arc when we find him." Hiccup noted the cautious optimism in his voice. They were all guessing at the fate of their friends, but Lothar had told them that Arc still lived and that was enough to remove a few dozen pounds of weight off Nestor's shoulders. Now they just had to find him and the others.

Hiccup overheard a series of bangs and scrapes coming from inside the building. It didn't sound like Proto was being especially careful. Nestor grimaced at the louder ones and added, "Maybe it's best I not leave this entirely in Proto's hands."

Hiccup waved him to go. "I'll keep watch. Go save the outpost from Proto."

"You'll be…?" Nestor began to say, then caught himself before he finished, looking a little sheepish in the process. "I'll be right back."

Nestor dashed inside the building, and a short moment later his voice rang out from the doorway, frantically explaining to Proto that it didn't need to uproot the entire floor to retrieve whatever it had found. Hiccup might have laughed if his mood had allowed for it. These days, he didn't have much of a sense of humor.

It didn't help that everyone else was tiptoeing around him. The phrase _You'll be okay?_ or _Are you okay?_ or a dozen variants had been said to him over and over . Even Tuffnut had asked once, and he had the empathy of a blizzard. The sympathy had gotten so thick that Hiccup felt like he would choke on it, and he'd been forced to tell them all, politely and gratefully, that there was only one honest answer he could give them: he wasn't okay, but he'd manage. So stop asking.

The not-subtle activity inside the building settled down to a few random creakings and a few choice words from Nestor. Hiccup sighed for the heck of it and let his gaze linger on the sea, a welcome sight of calm waves and unending horizon in contrast to the rust-colored and orange dunes of the desert. He could now officially mark _visiting a desert_ off his travel plans, and he'd be a happy Viking if he never had to visit one again.

His mind wandered again, wandered as it often did when he didn't have anything else to focus on. He fought the direction his mind wanted to go, contemplated other things like how many days they had left before they reached Riki Poka, what spare parts he would need to get Toothless's rudder fixed up properly, how long his dad's beard must have gotten in his absence and how glad Hiccup would be to see him again when all this was over. The barrage of random thoughts, some meaningful and some meaningless, kept his mind from straying into the pain and grief that shadowed him every second of his life. For now, the technique was keeping him sane and on the job, and that was all he could hope for.

But there was a side effect – too much mental drifting. A problem when hostile company was around, which was why Hiccup didn't realize he even had hostile company to worry about until the guy was thirty feet away, panting and sweating like he was in the process of melting into the wooden boards of the dock. Hiccup started as he noticed the rotund man staring at him with the oddest of faces. Hiccup couldn't tell if the man was thrilled or enraged at finding a trespasser standing not far from two of his unconscious comrades.

"You!" the exhausted man exclaimed. "Suddenly, this all makes sense." The tubby fellow stood in place and dabbed his forehead with a drenched handkerchief in his right hand, looking less certain about the overall sense of the situation than his words implied.

Hiccup wasn't impressed. Give the guy a few more minutes and he'd probably pass out on his own. Even though his presence meant Ruff and Tuff's ambush had not achieved complete success, Hiccup figured he could take the guy one-on-one even if he hadn't been wearing his myssteel bracers, which proved handy in a brawl.

"Kudos for the ambush, Dragon Rider," continued the perspiring man. "The idiots under my command fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Good thing I know how to delegate."

"I take it my reputation has preceded myself once again," commented Hiccup dryly. "And you are?"

"Garrett," declared the perspiring fellow. "A name you'll come to respect very shortly."

"I doubt it," chided Hiccup calmly. "You want to surrender now, or after the humiliating defeat?"

Garrett chuckled, which was not the reaction Hiccup expected. He then proceeded to unbutton his sweat-stained shirt, revealing more flabby stomach than Hiccup cared to see. It also revealed a harness hiding underneath the shirt, a leather and gem-encrusted piece of apparel that had a disturbing similarity to the one the Alchemist had worn within the Repository.

"Personally, I hate doing things myself," Garrett said as he touched the central gem in the harness, triggering a soft glow that was barely perceptible in the bright sunlight. "You live longer getting others to do the labor. But the Alchemist has a bounty out on you and your friends, and I'd be stupid to pass on easy money."

_The Alchemist is dead,_ Hiccup thought, and he might have blurted it out had the dock not started rumbling ominously. Around him, pieces of flotsam were defying the principles of normal flotsam behavior. They were floating into the air or leaping about like excited bullfrogs as green lances of energy spit out from the man's harness and tagged them, often splintering large chunks off of the dock's wooden beams. The rogue debris left the ground and flew to greet the fat man and his harness, gathering into larger and larger groups of debris that spun around him in energetic orbits. The harness sent more green energy at the ground or into the sea, searching for more material to tag and attract.

The fat man's feet left the dock and he began levitating amidst spinning piles of glistening rocks from the beachfront and entire wooden supports ripped from weakened cords. The circling clusters of wreckage coalesced into a large, sparking, giant-sized figure with no head to speak of, the wooden boards creaking as legs formed and settled onto the dock. It had some resemblance to the insidious bone abomination Cervantes had created as a personal suit of oversized armor, only this one came from a junkyard instead of a graveyard and was far less impressive by comparison… but _only_ by comparison.

While batting aside his growing panic, Hiccup did manage to put a name to the phenomenon before him. Arc had described his battle with the Alchemist's kidnapping team in great detail, the team that had taken Qiao away almost three weeks ago. The most memorable bit entailed the two walking piles of humanoid debris held together by crackling energy, an actual human floating in the middle of the animated mass and controlling it like a puppet master. Qiao had called them Berserkers, which Hiccup knew was a Viking title for half-crazed warriors with no sense of self-preservation. Anyone on the receiving end of a Berserker's wrath usually took a lot of raw hurting. Hiccup hadn't wanted to encounter such a weapon in person, so clearly he was meant to encounter one because that's how his life worked.

The Berserker came to full transformation, standing on the dock like a headless, holey statue that someone forgot to finished building. The fat man inside was partly obscured by the energy crackles and the debris shell, but his confident, sneering voice came through as clear as a bell.

"You want to surrender now?" said Garrett, "or after the humiliating defeat?"

Surprisingly, an unusual calm befell Hiccup despite his awareness of how utterly overmatched he was. This wasn't anything he hadn't dealt with before, though he always had Toothless at his side at those times. This time around, he couldn't muster up much panic. He did glance at the outpost entrance for a sign of Nestor or Proto, though he could hear new scrapings and bangings coming from that direction. They might not have heard the commotion outside, or they were too embroiled in retrieving the conduit artifact to easily get un-embroiled. He supposed he could run for the door, he might even make it. He could yell for Nestor and Proto, they might hear his screams before the Berserker pounded him into flatbread. Maybe he could dive into the sea and hold his breath for a few minutes… well, okay, maybe twenty seconds…

Or maybe he'd just take care of this problem himself.

"Well, boy?" said Garrett, moving his hands to his hips and subsequently causing the Berserker to awkwardly mimic the same gesture. "You going to answer, or just stand there as I come your way?"

Hiccup's mind buzzed with the inklings of a plan. The Berserker stood as a human would stand, pressing down on the treated wood at its feet. Despite being created from hovering wreckage, the actual weapon had weight and supported it on two legs. And while Hiccup could see the damage the Berserker's creation had wrought on the dock as it yanked parts of it away, he would bet a hundred dragon eggs that the overconfident pilot couldn't see the tenuous state of the floorboards ahead of him.

Garrett's impatience gave way to irritation, and he attempted intimidation by taking a hard step forward. The dock rumbled as the heavy foot came down, along with groaning protests from the boards. The Berserker's foot sank a few inches into the dock. Garrett didn't notice either clue that he was on shaky ground. He must not be able to feel the ground giving through his surrogate body.

Hiccup gave Garrett a nonchalant shrug, hoping that Garrett wasn't a fan of blatant disrespect. "I think I'll just stand here and let you sweat the details," he commented.

That did the trick. Angered by Hiccup's impudence, Garrett cocked back his right arm and grabbed at the air. In response, the Berserker's right hand mimicked the gesture up to the point its hand flew away from the arm, coming right at Hiccup.

Arc was a thorough storyteller – Hiccup knew about this little trick. Embracing his old dragon-combat tutelage, he rolled to the side and out of the flying hand's path. The hand closed on nothing and then retracted to its source. More protests from the dock erupted as Garrett pressed forward, realigning to get a better angle on Hiccup, but Hiccup was already scampering backward, keeping the weakened floor section between him and the Berserker.

Then, as if to remind Hiccup that universal randomness still plagued him, his left foot found a gap between the floorboards. It wedged in tight, causing him to fall backwards onto his rear with an ungraceful thump. He yelped in surprise, his dignity the only thing injured (not that he ever had much to begin with), but kept his eyes on the Berserker as the overweight pilot laughed at Hiccup's expense.

"Serves you right, boy," said Garrett as he confidently strove forward, thinking his quarry as good as caught.

The first step caused the boards directly underneath the weapon to crack in chorus, a hundred splits shouting to the unsuspecting pilot that they'd had enough of this abuse. It was halfway through the second step that Garrett finally picked up on the precarious state of the dock, but he was helpless to avert the second step from following through, and the dock finally gave up the ghost.

The debris-leg smashed through the floor and took the rest of the Berserkrer with it, Garrett yowling in panic as he fell. Part of the dock collapsed inward as the supports underneath gave way, the water below seething as wreckage rained down upon it. Garrett flailed with his suit's arms at the dock, but only succeeded in dragging more boards down upon him, the heavy wood shoving the suit's debris-field inward, shrinking its mass into a more compact form.

When the slippage and falling ceased, the results had become comically clear. Garrett's Berserker suit stood wedged into the dock from chest-level up, its arms pinned under hundreds of pounds of wood. Garrett himself was equally wedged, the debris-field trapping his body inside the suit. He was safe for now – the power of the harness kept him aloft and also held the bigger chunks from crushing him – but he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon.

Hiccup thanked the heavens for not being too random on him as he freed his foot from the boards. The dock had collapsed just short of him. Proof, as always, that while the Gods seemed happy to humiliate him regularly, they stopped short at killing him.

He stood up and walked as close to the trapped Berserker as he deemed safe to do, repressing a smile at seeing Garrett twisting helplessly in his makeshift prison. Garrett finally stopped struggling after it became clear he was too wedged in to get free and looked at Hiccup with fearful eyes.

"You up for answering a few questions before I pull you out of there?" asked Hiccup.

"I… don't do well… in tight spaces…" breathed Garrett, his voice strained.

Hiccup shrugged his best don't-care shrug. "Then I hope your pals get back here before that harness of yours runs out of power. Of course, we might keep them occupied for awhile…"

"Fine, fine!" wheezed Garrett. "Just promise you won't leave me like this."

Hiccup was about to make the promise when he heard his name called. Behind him, Nestor had reappeared from the building, standing with his eyes wide and focused on the wreckage before him.

"I heard a lot of commotion just now," said Nestor. "Thought you might need help. Guess I was wrong."

"I needed help a minute ago," said Hiccup. "What were you two doing in there?"

Before Nestor could answer, the doorway into the building was abruptly widened as three tentacles smashed the wall to the door's right, crudely doubling its size. Proto walked out of the entrance on three legs, with two other tentacle-arms holding aloft a strange crystalline orb inserted into the top of a cone-shaped structure as wide as Proto's torso. Bits of flooring stuck out from the base of the cone, wreckage that implied that the device had been bolted to the floor and that Proto's method of retrieving the object entailed treating the floor like a demolition project.

Nestor closed his eyes and shook his head without bothering to turn around. Proto walked over the door it had painstakingly attempted to keep undamaged and stopped just behind Nestor, examining the trapped Berserker with its three-eyed tentacle head before shifting it back to Nestor.

_Conduit artifact successfully retrieved, Human Nestor,_ it stated.

Nestor groaned and gave Hiccup a helpless look. "Subtlety – still needs work," he said.

* * *

The campfire atmosphere that evening was of a different quality than the last several nights, though not quite positive. The fairly easy victory at Outpost #4 and the way matters had been carefully wrapped up did swing the mood pendulum toward happy, but it still had a long ways to go before it got there.

Nestor wagered they'd have a shot at a happy campfire on the day Hiccup chose to rejoin them. Even with his nose deep in a stack of personal logs he "liberated" from the outpost, Nestor stole looks at the empty spot between him and the Twins, the spot Hiccup and Toothless used to occupy in the evenings before they reached the coast. Hiccup had decided to spend time away from the group, which wasn't the safest of decisions even with a Night Fury to keep him company. But nobody had tried to convince him to stick to the group. If he needed his space, he needed his space, so long as his space threshold was limited to within eyeshot of everyone else.

_Satisfaction _was the best word for it, at least in Nestor's lexicon. They were back in the fight after all those long days of travel, and the battle had gone well. They were also safe from reprisals for now, safely ensconced in the shelter of a rocky beach a few dragon/Guardian hours of flight away from some very cheesed-off men back at Outpost #4. Not that Garrett and his men could've done anything – Toothless disabled their one landing boat with a fireball to the bow, the nearest village was two days by foot, and their communication device had come along for the ride.

Ruffnut had the other significant prize in her hands – the harness that had created the Berserker suit. Garrett had given it up as a trade-off to getting rescued from the collapsed dock. She kept turning it over and over as if figuring that playing with it would somehow activate it. Or perhaps she was merely dreaming about all the wrecking she could do with her own suit built from wreckage. The only thing happening was that one of the heads of Barf-Belch (and Nestor was at a total loss concerning which one) was intently watching her fiddle with the device. The dragon sat behind its riders and took turns attending to a pile of fresh-ish fish and gulping them down its two longs necks.

Thankfully, Hiccup had already neutered the suit by yanking out the central gem. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Twins… well, all right, he didn't trust the Twins when it came to certain temptations.

"C'mon, Nestor," pleaded Ruffnut. "Just five minutes."

"No." Nestor didn't bother to look up. It'd only encourage her.

"It's not like I can destroy much out here. I'll just bash a few boulders around."

"I don't have the gem that activates it, so why are you pestering me?"

"Hiccup seems to listen to you. Go get it from him and I'll owe you."

Nestor finally had to look up from his current read, which was nothing more than a bored signalman's attempt at romantic poetry, along with a failed attempt to make the word _orange_ rhyme with anything. "You already owe me for saving your life… twice."

"I thought that kiss I gave you counted for something," said Ruffnut, and the way she said it made Nestor pause to consider his response carefully.

Her brother, who sat at her side, did Nestor a favor by making a disgusted face. "Well, don't thank him that way again in front of _me_. I didn't see it happen the first time and boy am I glad."

Predictably, Ruffnut clocked him on the side of the head for his comment, Tuffnut smiling through the pain. Subject matter deflected, much to Nestor's relief. "If it's all the same to you two," said Nestor, "I'm going to trust in Hiccup's judgment. If you want to wear the Berserker so badly, you go talk to him."

Ruffnut apparently didn't think that would work, because she abruptly groaned and tossed aside the harness. "Next cool toy we come across belongs to me," she stated, her tone more hopeful than definite.

"I wish the whole dock had collapsed," said Tuffnut, munching on a piece of stale bread he had proffered from the outpost's stores. "We should've left it all as rubble, to teach them a lesson."

_Which lesson, Human Tuffnut?_ asked Proto, piping up for a change from the opposite side of the fire, the machine standing as if at military attention. Proto usually kept watch for potential threats like storms and venomous wildlife, but it preferred to do it close to the group. It didn't need warmth or rest, but it was attracted to socializing.

Nestor believed it/he needed something to do while part of its analytical mind worked on discovering how the crystal ball thingy, the conduit device, functioned. After removing it from its cone-shaped support, Proto had placed the wagon-wheel-sized sphere on its back, where the object sunk in halfway into Proto's body as the machine shifted steel around the opaque artifact to act as a new home. There remained room for Nestor to sit near Proto's head during flying time.

Tuffnut was momentarily baffled by the question. No one really ever asked him to elaborate on anything. "Uh… the lesson that you shouldn't mess with us."

_This unit was not aware that the hostile humans intended to mess with us prior to our arrival,_ stated Proto. _How does the destruction of the dock facilitate this lesson?_

Tuffnut screwed up his face attempting to decipher what Proto had just asked him. He hemmed and hawed and tried starting a sentence three times before going silent to think over his response better. So flummoxed he was that he didn't notice the Belch head of his dragon sneaking a bite off the stale bread in his hands, then spitting it out when it realized it wasn't fish-flavored.

Ruffnut took some glee in her brother's confusion. "I think your machine broke my brother's brain again."

"Good boy, Proto," said Nestor absently, back at his reading. He wasn't sure which was more taxing – talking with the Twins at length or the tedious communication logs he was reading. Still, the Twins were okay company most of the time, certainly more lively than Hiccup was these days. It wasn't that they had forgotten their lost friend – Nestor occasionally caught Ruffnut tearing up when she didn't think anyone was looking – but they had each other and their old routine and it seemed to work for them. Despite Ruffnut's desire to become more adventurous, Nestor was now certain that it would've been a mistake to not bring her brother along as well. Neither of them had been ready for this kind of life. _Salo krebit_, was anyone ever ready for it?

Nestor flipped to a new page in the log and expected to find another report about how calm and serene the sea was around Outpost #4. What he found was far more interesting – very, very interesting. Enough so that when he looked up to tell the Twins what he'd read and found them locked in the fifth fumbling tussle of the day, he quietly excused himself from the campfire and walked out into the night, set on telling someone who might actually care.

He did give Proto the order to intervene if the Twins accidentally rolled into the fire.

* * *

Hiccup wasn't trying to hide, so the little campfire he'd built down the beach was easy to spot. Too easy, in fact – Nestor might've felt like rebuking him for being careless had his news not carried more importance. They had enemies out there and it didn't pay to be obvious about where you were camping.

A familiar scene greeted Nestor. Toothless lying down on his stomach, Hiccup resting against him. Hiccup staring off into the sky, gazing up at the vast carpet of endless stars and looking very lost right at that moment. Something glinted in his hands, something he turned around slowly and rubbed absently, like it was there to give his fingers something to do.

The glint in the firelight was the clue Nestor needed. Nothing glinted like myssteel, not even the purest diamonds or the shiniest silver. Nestor knew what it was, what it had come to mean for Hiccup, and yet Nestor wasn't sure it was a good thing to hold onto.

But he said nothing about it as he approached. Hiccup heard him coming and gave him a polite smile. Toothless opened one eye and then closed it again after confirming it was only Nestor.

Hiccup kept fiddling with the engagement ring as Nestor took a seat, didn't even try to hide it. The ring was no secret to Nestor, who had stumbled across it back before they even knew the Alchemist existed. Even though Astrid never had a chance to see the ring, Hiccup considered it hers, treated it like it was hers. It was the only keepsake he had of her. Everything else was back at Berk, left on Linebreaker's vessel, or lost in the Repository. It was the only memento he had… and it wasn't even really hers.

"She said yes, you know," he stated, as if Nestor had asked a question. "Right as she fell. Told me she would've said yes. I think she thought it would bring me comfort. It didn't work."

"She loved you, Hiccup," Nestor replied quietly. "She was making sure you knew that."

Hiccup nodded solemnly. "I know. I suppose it was better to hear her say it than not. Funny that she already knew I was going to ask. My big surprise for her and she already knew."

Nestor suddenly felt very guilty, and his face showed it. He decided not to dodge the arrow on this one. "Ah, yeah, about that…"

"There's no blame, Nestor." Hiccup didn't look angry at all, which relieved Nestor, but the dejected way he put it didn't make him feel any better about it. "So she knew already. All that really matters to me is that she would've said yes."

Nestor couldn't help but frown at his friend's contemplations. "Are you coming out here to torture yourself, Hiccup?" said Nestor.

"No, the Gods do that already," said Hiccup. "I… I really don't know why I'm out here. Maybe it's just easier to be miserable when no one's around to look at you."

"No one's expecting you to be done grieving over Astrid, Hiccup. You don't have to hide it."

Now Hiccup was frowning as well. "But we can't afford it, either. Not good for morale, especially when we're out here all by ourselves."

Not liking where the conversation was going, Nestor forced the frown off his face and plucked another piece of sage advice from his brain's wisdom archive. "Arc once told me that grief is just like anger and fear – it's natural to feel it, as long as you don't let it rule you. As long as you don't do anything stupid because of it."

Hiccup's frown deepened. "Is that why you came out to see me? A lecture about not taking unnecessary risks?"

Nestor shook his head. "It wasn't the reason. You've proven you can handle yourself, dragon or no dragon. Taking on that Berserker alone was… dangerous, but that's how our lives work these days. I just hope you weren't doing it for the wrong reasons."

"I did it because Garrett was a jerk and I didn't feel like running," said Hiccup, his voice growing edgy. "Would you consider those reasons wrong?"

"Not especially," Nestor calmly replied. "When my village rejected me, I was so angry that I even thought about returning there someday just so I could tear the place apart. And for me, that wouldn't have been a silly fantasy. If I didn't have Arc watching over me at the time, I might have even done it. Arc forbade me to go anywhere near them, not for their sakes, not for his… but for mine."

Hiccup seemed to hear him on this, and he calmed again. "Well… okay, maybe I'm angry, but I'm not that guy, Nestor. If I was, I'd have a Night Fury's heart on my dad's wall instead of a Night Fury for a friend." Hiccup patted Toothless's side on reflex, the dragon barely stirring from the touch. "For what it's worth, I don't think you could be that guy, either. I mean, you didn't even bother to pull off Alvin's head when you had the chance. Most of my village would call that a bad move."

"So you're saying that we're a couple of boring good guys?" said Nestor, smiling lightly.

"Well, _you're_ definitely boring," said Hiccup, a small smile finding its way to his lips. The two of them laughed at the good-natured ribbing.

Then Nestor remembered that he did have an important reason to bother Hiccup with and grabbed a piece of folded parchment from out of his shirt pocket. "I found this amongst the message logs. I thought you should see it for yourself."

He handed the parchment to Hiccup, who looked at it for a whole two seconds before looking back at Nestor rather baffled. "You do know I can't read Old Frank yet, right?"

Chastised, Nestor took back the parchment. "It's a message from the Alchemist's base from three days ago. It's a general order for all outposts to prepare for evacuating back to Sanctuary, but only if they are directly contacted for relocation… by the Alchemist herself."

Hiccup's eyebrows couldn't decide on raising or lowering in response, so they mostly stayed even. His mouth successfully frowned. "The Alchemist herself? Isn't that carrying the act a little too far?"

Nestor shrugged. "I know neither of us believe Garrett's story about how he knew our descriptions, but I'm convinced he was telling what _he_ believes to be the truth. It's the story his allies at Sanctuary are feeding all the outposts, probably to keep them in line until the new person in charge figures out what to do with them. I think this message is a sign that a plan is finally coming together, which means we may not have much time before someone comes around to check up on Garrett and his pals."

Hiccup placed a hand on his chin as he considered Nestor's words, but it was his own thoughts that troubled him more, a query that had come to him as Nestor had spoken. "It just occurred to me – why would there be bounties out on us?"

"Um… maybe because we've caused a lot of headaches for the Alchemist's forces and…"

"But think about it," interrupted Hiccup. "We didn't fly out of the Repository. The Alchemist's minions don't know we're alive – in fact, they probably think we're extremely dead. Why would they put out bounties on you, me, and Toothless?"

Nestor opened his mouth to answer and then closed it as Hiccup's confusion caught up with him. "Ah, yeah, it is curious. But maybe they're just being cautious and casting a wide net, so to speak."

"But Astrid's description wasn't included," continued Hiccup. "It's like they don't know we're alive… but they know she's not."

"Hiccup, let's not go…"

Hiccup stood up suddenly, the abrupt move jostling Toothless into waking up, the dragon turning his head Hiccup's way. Hiccup's tone grew in excitement as he spoke. "I'm serious, Nestor. How would they know we're alive and Astrid isn't? There's only one person who would know all that, one person who was right there with us when the Repository caved in… but she's supposed to be gone, right?"

"Hiccup…" Nestor attempted to deflect him from this line of reasoning, fearing what conclusion Hiccup might fixate on. But Hiccup was too determined now, and Nestor gave up the attempt.

"And then you find a message saying that the Alchemist is going to personally come a-calling. That's a dangerous thing to say if you can't produce an actual Alchemist. So… what if she _is_ still alive? What if she got out like we did, teleporting or with some other magic trick?"

Nestor had a terrible feeling he knew where this was leading, but he kept his mouth shut as Hiccup began to pace next to Toothless and continued to speak. "Maybe… maybe there's no bounty on Astrid because… the Alchemist is alive and has her?"

"Hiccup, don't do that," said Nestor. "Don't start down that road."

"But it makes sense, Nestor!" insisted Hiccup. "Astrid had the Alchemist clinging to her boots when she fell. If the Alchemist found a way to teleport out of there…"

"A lot of _ifs_, Hiccup," cautioned Nestor, standing up and putting a hand on Hiccup's shoulder in an effort to calm him. The wide-eyed, near-manic excitement in Hiccup's eyes was a welcome change from his mood of the last several days, but Nestor wanted it based on something more tangible than false hope.

"This is the kind of thing that can drive a man insane, Hiccup," continued Nestor. "Believing that the improbable has come true – I've been there. It only leads to more heartbreak."

"Nestor…"

"_Salo krebit_, hear me, Hiccup." He placed both hands on Hiccup's shoulders and forced the excited young man to look him square in the face. "I know you want Astrid back, and I beg the Fates that you're right. But if you're wrong…"

"Then she'll have died all over again," finished Hiccup, and somehow saying the words tempered his growing elation with a serious dose of reality. "I'm not a stranger to this, Nestor. I went a whole year after my mom passed away thinking she would sail into the docks any minute, like she'd been away on a long voyage. But this? It doesn't feel like that."

Nestor saw the pain and hope in Hiccup's eyes, the two emotions wrestling it out for supremacy. Nestor sighed – he didn't have the heart to squelch Hiccup's fantasy. "Once Proto figures out the conduit device, we'll be able to find out for sure. Until then, I need you to shelve this idea for now. If we find proof…"

"I get it, Nestor," said Hiccup, his voice back to its normal mellow nature. "I'll keep the crazy talk to a minimum."

Nestor hated killing Hiccup's rare moment of happiness, and he was glad to have the world interrupt any further discussion as the night lit up briefly behind them. Darkness turned white for a split second as a white streak of electricity cut across the clear sky, a random bolt of lightning with no cloud to spawn from and no target on the ground to fry. It dissipated in a second split-second, the night darkening again as the thunder rolled and drove a number of sleeping seabirds into the sky, squawking in fear.

Toothless shot up on his feet as Nestor and Hiccup watched the sky for any more lightning. None came. Nestor then channeled his barrier field to his right arm and began to wave it above his head, his body an orange beacon amidst the pervasive darkness. Normally such a move would be frowned upon, but this time it was needed if their Hyperion friend was to find them sooner than later.

"We should get back to the others," said Hiccup. "If Lothar's back already, he must have a good reason."

* * *

It wasn't surprising in the slightest that Ruffnut and Tuffnut had gotten into a fight while Hiccup and Nestor had been away. But it was different to see someone try to break up their battling, and Hiccup felt the solution was a novel one.

The Twins had been hoisted into the air by Proto, one tentacle per twin, each one roped around their waists and lifting them firmly away from each other, Ruffnut with her arms crossed and Tuffnut struggling in vain to loosen Proto's iron grip. They were still exchanging insults with one another when Hiccup, Nestor, and Toothless walked into the firelight, both twins immediately shooting dirty looks at Nestor.

"Think you could call off your metal guard dog?" said Tuffnut.

_This unit prevented Humans Ruffnut and Tuffnut from rolling into fire,_ explained Proto. _Human organisms remain unharmed._

"We weren't rolling into the fire," defended Ruffnut.

Hiccup remained skeptical. "Then why's your sleeve blackened?"

Ruffnut looked at her left sleeve and noted that it did have a crispy edge. "Well… we got a little close."

"Proto, release," said Nestor. Immediately Ruff and Tuff dropped to the ground with simultaneous thuds and simultaneous insults for Proto.

"Proto makes a good babysitter," said Hiccup, "assuming he doesn't actually _sit_ on any babies."

Nestor gave Hiccup a side-glance and a smile. "_He?_"

Hiccup shrugged. "Just going with it."

A flutter of wings from above signaled the arrival of their traveling companion. Still glowing with sporadic discharges of electricity, the Skrill known as Lothar glided in from the north and quickly found their campsite. He came in for a graceful landing, bending down as he touched sand to let off his passenger, who had been clinging to the scales on Lothar's back and had been easily missed in the darkness.

"Greetings and vell met," said Lothar. "I return vith ze first of ze Hyperion."

The green lizard-like creature was tiny in relation to the Skrill. It was tiny in relation to the gathered humans. The Terrible Terror yawned sleepily and stretch out its little wings, then looked over the gathered companions with its scrutinizing bulbous eyes.

"This is a Hyperion?" said Tuffnut, pointing at the Terror. "Isn't he a little too… cute?"

"Beats being ugly, chowder-head," said the Terror in a squeaky voice. Ruffnut recoiled in shock, eliciting a laugh from his sister.

"Adon, manners," said Lothar disapprovingly. The little dragon rolled its eyes in a very Arc-like manner.

"Sorry, sorry, it's been a long trip," said Adon. "Piggy-backing on a Skrill is no picnic."

"Adonis, correct?" asked Nestor. "Arc's talked of you at length."

"Yeah, hopefully with the most glowing of words," said Adon. He pointed a claw at each person or dragon as he counted them off in turn. "Let's see… Nestor, I know of you quite well… Hiccup the Dragon Rider… Toothless… the two-headed dragon… the two tag alongs…"

"Hey!" Ruff and Tuff said in unison.

"Get over it," said Adon. He then regarded Proto with much concern. "You weren't kidding, Lothar. They really did pick up a Guardian. Suicidal, much?"

"Is there a reason for this visit?" asked Hiccup, hoping to avert any more caustic comments from the Terror.

"Indeed there is," confirmed Adon. "Lothar explained things and we both felt it was time for a Gathering, which is good news for you lot."

"What's that mean, exactly?" Hiccup asked.

"The Hyperion are to come together for a meeting," explained Adon. "I'm just here until Lothar can find the others."

"Yes, so all of you play nicely," chimed in Lothar, beating his powerful wings and taking off into the air. "I vill be back soon."

Lothar soon receded into the darkness, leaving Adon and the others in an uncomfortable state of silence. Before anyone else could pipe up with a question or comment, Adon gave his body a good stretch and began slinking away from the group, his tiny form fading into the rocks.

"You jokers do what you will," he shouted back to the group as he disappeared. "I'm getting twenty winks."

"I knew we were missing something," Hiccup commented unhappily. "We didn't have enough cranky talking dragons on the team."


	5. Bottling The Nightly Heavens

**Chapter Four: Bottling The Nightly Heavens**

If anyone ever asked Astrid to describe her days of captivity, her answer would have gone something like this: pacing in her cell, looking out the window in her cell, exercising in her cell, eating two meals a day in her cell, sleeping in her cell, and plotting one of several potentially clever or potentially disastrous escape plans… in her cell.

The cell was the key part of her experience. For a time, it was the extent of her world.

Astrid wasn't sure which was worse – the lack of freedom or the sheer monotony that went with the lack of freedom. To the Alchemist's credit, her stay had been uneventful. No interrogations, no neglect (even though fire wasn't allowed in her cell, she always had a blanket when it got chilly), and no threatening visits from any bored or psychopathic members of the Alchemist's army. But the lack of _knowing_ had a torturous nature to it. She hadn't learned a single thing about the Alchemist's plans, or why there was so much hustle and bustle outside, or why Heather hadn't met with her again after six days of solitude.

She didn't know if Hiccup was alive or dead, and that particular lack of knowing was the worst. It was the worm that ate a little more of her heart each day. She had never really expected to get so hopelessly attached to someone that it almost hurt to not know where he was or if he was okay, but it had happened. She had never expected to fall in love with someone as physically underwhelming or personally quirky as Hiccup… but it had happened. She might have been willing to stay captive for years, standing on her head if need be, if she knew that Hiccup was safe and sound and would never come within a hundred miles of the Alchemist again. But right now, all she wanted to do was bust her cell wide open and find Hiccup and kiss him a whole lot, and it made her stay a touch too intolerable.

For better or for worse, the monotony came to an end on the same day that her wayward boyfriend was staring down a Berserker, the same day her loyal precognitive friend was leading the way up a harmless-looking mountain. Astrid had decided to increase her push-up allotment to two hundred in the futile hope of becoming too exhausted to think about Hiccup, and she was up to fifty-three when the cell door opened unexpectedly early, an hour before breakfast was normally served.

Heather appeared in the doorway, helmet covering most of her face as always. She gestured at Astrid with a pair of steel manacles in her hands. "Exercise time. You get an hour."

She didn't have to be told twice, but she did manage to avoid looking too eager as Heather snapped the manacles to her wrists, binding Astrid's hands behind her back. A happy prisoner, even when bound, was not to be trusted.

Heather led her to an open courtyard boxed in by barracks on all sides, with no other exits save climbing up the buildings themselves. The ground was unpaved and full of shallow dips. It looked like someone had intended to build something here but never got around to it, so now it served as an exercise yard for any prisoners in Sanctuary. Astrid had to hide her joy at feeling the sun beating down on her face for the first time in a week – she'd gone longer stints without sun (like every winter in Berk), but at least in Berk she had pleasant company and warm fires to compensate.

There was one other guard, the bored one that had largely disappeared from guarding Astrid's cell door. He had been roped into exercise duty, and he looked none too pleased about it. He stood next to the one open doorway in and out of the exercise yard.

"Walk," ordered Heather, keeping to Astrid's side as the two of them began to circle the yard clockwise. Heather kept a hand gripped on Astrid's left arm to steady her and to keep up guard-prisoner appearances. Up close, Astrid could see how potted the ground was, and one misstep would send her face first into the ground with no means of breaking her fall.

When they had moved to the opposite side of the yard from the doorway, Heather finally spoke up, her voice a raspy whisper. "Keep your voice low, and don't look my direction. When we round the next corner, clam up so that Olaf doesn't see you talking or I'll probably have to smack you."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" whispered Astrid, mostly joking. "What took you so long?"

"Do you have any idea how crazy things are right now? The Alchemist wants all those ships under construction ready to go by tomorrow. The men have been busting their rumps getting them ready. We're on war footing, Astrid. I couldn't get in my request to get you some exercise until yesterday."

"War? With whom?"

"My guess is whoever took over the _Zenith_." Heather paused and squeezed Astrid's arm to signal her time to stay silent as they neared the bored guard named Olaf, who grunted as they went by. Once they had distance again, she squeezed Astrid's arm again as a clue that they could whisper once more.

"These ships were being built long before now," said Astrid. "It's not just the turncoats on her flagship she's going after."

"No doubt, but that's all I have. The good news is that we might have an opening… you know, for the escaping and everything."

Astrid almost made a surprise-face, but wisely held it back as they passed Olaf. "Already?"

"The Alchemist is doing some kind of christening ceremony close to sundown today. I don't know what she intends to christen – I assume the ships - but she wants the whole base at the ceremony. I guess she's going to give a pep talk."

Astrid gave her a very skeptical stare. "Tonight?"

They passed by Olaf once more, after which Heather shook her head ever so slightly. "Tonight, I'll be one of the few guards who can't attend due to prior commitments – you, in this case. It'll give us a chance to make a plan without any eavesdroppers around."

So it was a plan to make a plan. Not what Astrid was hoping for, but it was something. "Do you know if the Alchemist is going to say anything… important?"

"I don't know, Astrid," Heather whispered. "But I think escape takes priority, don't you?"

The door to the yard opened abruptly, forcing them to go silent in the presence of unexpected company. The company in question was a white-haired woman with a myssteel chain wrapped around one shoulder and a nasty air wrapped around the rest of her. Astrid thought she heard her own heart whimper as she recognized one the Alchemist's chief lieutenants, Sheen, who was heading right for the two of them and looking none too pleased about her business. Of all of the Alchemist's minions, Sheen had come off as the one she least wanted to meet in a dark alley, or any kind of alley for that matter.

Sheen intercepted them by standing directly in their path, forcing Heather and Astrid to stop. "Heather, right?" said Sheen in an apathetic voice. "The Alchemist wanted lucky ol' me to personally come down and tell you that while she would gladly have you crew one of the ships during the operation, she feels that your time is better served keeping our 'guest' here under control. So you don't get to fight, and get killed by, Cervantes. She probably did you a favor."

Astrid was trying to stone-face it with Sheen, but she failed to hide her surprise at hearing Cervantes was still kicking around. The name was meaningless to Heather, however, and her brow wrinkled in confusion. "Cervantes?" she asked.

"Outside your need-to-know privileges, kid," said Sheen testily. "And just so you know, I'm on to you."

Astrid quickly put on her best stone-face act as her heart did a sudden jump to a fast tempo. Sheen's attention remained on Heather, who met Sheen's accusing stare with a calm smile and no reply. Heather gave nothing away, a talent she had a knack for.

When Heather didn't produce the obvious reply or look of guilt, Sheen's frown deepened. "You think you can get on the Alchemist's good side by being an obedient little soldier, don't you? Well, she's not into bootlickers, kid. You have to produce some actual results, and baby-sitting a prisoner of war isn't going to cut it."

"I don't know what you mean," replied Heather, nice and sweetly. "I'm just doing my job."

Sheen scoffed. "The Alchemist wouldn't send _me_ here just to deliver a message unless she respects you for some reason. She probably sees 'potential.' I'm smart enough not to get in the Alchemist's way, but you better be smart enough not to get in _my_ way. Understand?"

Heather nodded politely, and it finally dawned on Astrid that this alpha-female posturing by Sheen could only mean one thing – she was threatened by Heather. Any other time, Astrid would have found that amusing, but with the two of them plotting escape, having Heather in Sheen's thoughts was a new complication they didn't need.

Then Sheen turned her angry eyes on Astrid, and Astrid immediately regretted wanting Sheen to not focus on Heather.

"The Alchemist told me I couldn't come near you," she said, her tone shifting to a more teasing, torturous manner. "She was afraid I might do something… inhospitable. She even made me swear to never lay a finger on you, and I obey the letter of the law. But tell me, Astrid, how does it feel, not knowing whether all your pals are alive or dead?"

"I don't know anything," Astrid calmly replied. "Do you?"

Sheen bit her lip for a moment. She knew something, but she clearly wasn't allowed to say it. Sheen then shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "I'm just saying that it's the constant folly of every would-be warrior to get attached to others. In our line of work, you lose people all the time. Friends are nothing more than liabilities… and Heaven help you if you fall in love with someone."

Sheen then gave Astrid a truly evil grin. "From everything Cragfist told me, I got the impression you and the Dragon Rider had a… thing. What do you think it would do to him to know you were gone forever? What would it do to _you_ if the tables were turned?"

Astrid saw the dig for what it was and didn't reply, her eyes glaring. She wouldn't give Sheen the satisfaction of an outburst. Astrid even suspected that Sheen wanted to provoke a fight that would revoke Astrid's recreational privileges, regardless of how it started. A way to "touch" Astrid that didn't involve fingers.

Heather wasn't so neutral about it, and she glared at Sheen. "What's this about?" she accused

"What's it to you?" Sheen shot back.

"She's my prisoner, and my responsibility," replied Heather calmly. "You've delivered your message. Now you can move on so I can do _my_ job."

Sheen didn't like that response at all, if you went by her intense glare. If Heather had been trying to get Sheen off her back, she had utterly failed. Luckily, Sheen must not have been in the mood to test the limits of the Alchemist's respect for Heather, as she turned and headed for the door in a huff, passing by a very entertained Olaf.

Heather and Astrid exchanged relieved looks, and then continued their walk in silence. They would have other chances to talk very soon; there was no point in pressing their luck.

* * *

While a storm front to the east made menacing gestures toward Sanctuary Island, swollen dark clouds that suggested a torrent of rain in the future for all that the clouds encountered, the storm skirted to the north instead and left the island untouched, allowing the Alchemist's sunset ceremony to take place out in the open. The only shadow present was the long one cast by the Omega Catalyszier, the alien-looking structure most people took for an elaborate vanity piece.

Storms never really ever hit Sanctuary Island, and there were many who believed that the Alchemist had some influence in that department. If asked, the Alchemist never gave a straight answer, usually smiling and saying, "the weather does as the weather does."

Most of the personnel had gathered at the base of the Catalyszier and were murmuring in hushed tones to one another, curious about how the next few minutes would play out. The Alchemist had wanted every able soul not tasked with a critical job (such as guarding prisoners or vital stores) to be present. The crowd numbered in the hundreds, the biggest gathering Sanctuary had ever seen since its founding.

A raised stone platform had been built before the mighty crystalline structure, barely twelve feet off the ground. It was a recent creation, composed of three crude slabs of rock that had been stacked together. No man had touched the stones, nor had any construction device. The first test run of the Alchemist's reinforced and empowered battle harness was to build the thing she stood upon, and it had worked beautifully.

She looked down on the crowd as they looked back up at her, awaiting either a stirring speech or a brilliant magic act. Dark Star stood with her, the protective dragon watching the crowd for threats. So did Sheen and Kong, though their presence was more symbolic than practical. They stood as reminders that those who performed well and remained loyal could one day stand at her level, regardless of so-called rank and royal blood.

The Alchemist had eschewed formal dress for her workshop wear and her harness, the central gem glowing faintly as the light faded from the sky. It was a newly crafted chunk of zanick, and it worked even better than the last one. This sample was more pure than the last one she had experimented with, which was good as she would need such purity and power for what came next. Off her belt hung a satchel with the rest of the zanick stone she had recovered from the Repository. It too had been carefully crafted over the last several days, and tonight it would be fitted to its new home.

"So I'll do the speech, fly up to the pinnacle, and do my thing," explained the Alchemist to her two lieutenants. She motioned to the ladder leaning against the back of the platform, the one Sheen and Kong had used to climb up. "After that, you're free to go down and mingle."

"I don't mingle," said Sheen, who had been wearing a scowl the whole time. "Shouldn't your new lieutenant-to-be do that?"

"I assume you're referring to Heather," said the Alchemist, ignoring Sheen's somewhat abrasive tone, a tactic she was good at considering how rare it was for Sheen to not be abrasive. "She is far from a lieutenant, Sheen, and she has other duties tonight."

"I would be honored to mingle with your subordinates," said Kong, as predictably dry and emotionless as ever.

Sheen waved at Kong dismissively. "Of course _you'd_ say that."

"If you have somewhere else you'd rather be," said the Alchemist, "you're free to go there after the speech is over."

Sheen's scowl didn't fade, but its intensity lessened. It was as good an _oh, okay_ as she was likely to get from the woman. The only time Sheen smiled was when violence was planned or commencing. Those were always troubling times.

The Alchemist then turned to her expectant audience and raised a hand, signaling that the time for murmuring was over. The audience quieted at once. The Alchemist didn't have the best gift of oration, nor did she usually say things that most folk understood, much less liked to hear. But tonight held the promise of something new. Tonight, it was believed that the Alchemist would finally explain a few things to the men and women who had flocked to her side. Perhaps a sliver of sense would be offered to them, a morsel of meaning to those who questioned why they had so labored for months or even years to build landlocked warships. An ounce of truth as to why they had not become the most powerful pirates in the world, or why they weren't ruling a kingdom or ten.

The Alchemist planned on offering them a sliver, true enough… but only a sliver.

"My brave, loyal people," she began, "we stand here tonight at the threshold of a new era. Not just for us, but for the whole of humanity. Thanks to your painstaking efforts, we now have an armada that could challenge the greatest navies of any empire. Had this fleet sailed against the mighty city of Troy, the city would have fallen inside of a day."

Many nodding heads, many dumbfounded heads. At least some of them got the old Greek reference.

"We have labored in secret for so long that the shadows have become our sunlight. We have languished in the fog of war to the point where we know only of fog. But tonight, the fog will lift. After tonight, there will be only war."

A better reaction this time. Most of her troops had been itching for battle since they joined up. Most of them had tasted the power of her mystical art, and they badly wanted to use it.

"First, we must take back what is ours – the _Zenith_, stolen by traitors who nearly sent me to a watery grave. I won't lie – they now command a powerful ship. But we have seven where they have one – the outcome is assured in our favor. Once we have the _Zenith_… or, if need be, it lies on the bottom of the ocean, we will then take our fleet to the first of our many targets – Riki Poka."

The Alchemist paused to let that much sink in. The reactions were decidedly mixed – skepticism and alarm ran through the crowd accompanied by murmurs of disbelief. She expected as much. It was one thing to brag about taking on a city, but to actually try it?

"I do not expect much of a fight from Riki Poka," she continued. "Not against the might we now wield. Not with the reputation I have spent so much time and effort cultivating. They will see us as one sees a typhoon, and they will bow to our wishes. But just because we are as strong as the weather gods themselves does not mean we will be as destructive. There will be rewards for all those who follow my commands and serve well, but there is no room for the self-serving, nor is there room for doubt. You may not understand my motives or my designs, but know that they will lead to power for you… and a better world for all."

Some good cheers from the crowd this time. The Alchemist held little faith that the idea of a better world held much sway with them. It would become even less popular once they realized exactly what she meant by it, though that revelation would come on a later day, when their fates became too wedded to hers to allow for second-guessing.

But promises of power? That was always a crowd-pleaser.

"The time for hiding is over," she spoke, bringing her speech to its big finish. "It is _our_ time at last. A new era begins tonight, and it will continue until the end of time."

Most of the crowd cheered in response, their egos buoyed and their support renewed. She had given them a few crumbs to chew on – they now had a target and a call to action – but they still didn't know the true plan. That was the way it should be.

The Alchemist moved to Dark Star, the dragon bending down to allow her mistress access to her back. The Alchemist stepped up and stood on Dark Star's back, the soles of her boots glowing red as they mystically latched onto the metal sections of Dark Star's torso. Dark Star stood up and swiveled around to get into launch position, the Alchemist's boots firmly fixed in place and causing one or two laws of physics to protest at her failure to fall right off. They protested even louder when Dark Star shot up into the air, her heavy wings beating rapidly, flying up the length of the crystal tower with the Alchemist riding along, standing upright the entire time and looking quite calm despite the buffeting wind and lack of securing tether.

The crowd were awed at the spectacle, happy to get an okay speech and a decent magic trick all in one night. It also reassured some of the doubters. What was a city garrison to a woman who could tell the laws that governed reality that, sorry, she wasn't playing ball today?

The Alchemist smiled to herself as Dark Star rounded the tower in a showy effort for the crowd, flipping upside down and throwing in a barrel roll or two. This particular bit of inspiration had come from watching the Dragon Rider in action. As frustrating as the fight over the Repository had been, she couldn't deny the fascinating spectacle of watching a dragon and his rider do high-speed flips while dodging every projectile fired at them. Thanks to a few adjustments to Dark Star's metal body, a pair of special boots, and the Alchemist's battle harness, she could duplicate the experience for herself.

If Hiccup ever showed up again (a big if, considering how things ended in the Repository), he would have some serious competition for the title of Dragon Rider.

Dark Star performed several more aerial stunts that involved weaving around the large starfish-like arms of the tower pinnacle, and she surely would have done more theatrics for the cheering crowd below had the Alchemist not complained of an increasingly upset stomach. Some things just couldn't be remedied with magic, airsickness being one of them.

Nestled in the center of the tower roof was a small landing spot, big enough to accommodate a Night Fury-sized dragon and her rider. After a precision landing, the Alchemist stepped off her dragon, relishing the secure feel of solid stone beneath her feet. Flying was a young person's game, made for younger stomachs and less-rational minds, and while she gladly performed for the morale of her army, it was more sacrifice than satisfaction.

The only feature to the otherwise featureless roof was a special cubby carved into the crystal. It housed a slot designed for something grapefruit-sized and multi-faceted. The cubby was undetectable from the air or from the ground, and the Alchemist was the only one who knew this little spot held so much significance.

She opened up her satchel and extracted the prepared chunk of zanick, the flighty sparks within already dancing up a tizzy as if in anticipation. In her hands was the last of her supply, reshaped and resized to fit into its new home. She had labored long and carefully to get the measurements perfect. They _had _to be perfect. Miscalculations are the rot in any wooden house – they may start small, but eventually they lead to total collapse.

She inserted the stone into the slot, the rock instantly bonding with the crystal surface. As she watched, the zanick became molten, almost liquid, spreading out like a melting ice cube. The slot ceased to exist, filled in by the transformed zanick. The Alchemist smiled – the Catalyszier had accepted the zanick, merged with it. The two were inseparable now. Another practitioner of True Alchemy might someday learn how to retrieve the zanick if they had a century of spare time.

The dancing lights within the zanick were now free inside the crystalline contours of the Catalyszier. As the Alchemist watched, the lights began to multiply on the spot - one becoming two, two becoming four, four becoming four thousand in the span of seconds. The lights fled throughout the structure, up the arms and down the tower, covering every square foot of crystal in soft light, quickly transforming the tower into a mystical lighthouse of luminance, less brilliant than the full moon but just as alluring.

Dark Star seemed transfixed by the lights, sometimes chasing after them like a young dragon at play and sometimes standing in place and marveling in awe at the entirety of the light show. Her soldiers were likewise impressed, considering how many gasps and exclamations she overheard wafting up from below.

In short order, the lights ceased to dance and spread around, finding their anointed homes amidst the cold crystal and sticking there. Now they twinkled, as if imitating the stars that were slowly appearing in the night sky. The thought crossed the Alchemist's mind that she may have just invented a way to bottle the nightly heavens themselves. It certainly looked like she had taken the stars for herself, though the earth's rotation would correct that notion shortly.

As the lightshow settled, the Alchemist let out a sigh of relief. This part had been time-sensitive, and she had carried a childish worry that she had made a mistake on the timing. A silly notion – she didn't make mistakes like that. She knew this mystical science stuff inside and out. Funny how her plans had come down to something akin to stellar alignment. Nothing as loopy as astrology – the stars did not decide anyone's fate unless you counted them as navigational guides – but actual science based on her studies of the Fold. It was common knowledge among the Artisans that the stars were other suns positioned at great distances away, suns where other worlds circled as the Earth circled the Sun. A fact that the humans of this day and age disbelieved, even fought to suppress. Yet one more fault in the failed creation that was the human race – they backslid so easily. But the Alchemist had learned of a truth even greater than that – that different realities existed as well, realms that cohabitated with ours but could not be seen or touched. Realms that existed within or connected by the Fold, realms that orbited each other like the planets orbited the stars. Much like planetary orbits, sometimes these realms passed close enough to each other that one might reach out and touch the surface of another realm… if one knew how to touch an alternate reality, of course. Or, to state it better, one could build a bridge that linked these realms together, creating a door of sorts that allowed for constant access between two realities.

The Catalysziers were her bridges. The realm in question… well, it wasn't one meant to support the existence of anything corporal. It was, in essence, the home of the Scouring, a… thing… that had issues with anything that is, and it solved its issues by rendering the _is_ into an _isn't._

The Alchemist often told her subordinates that the stars were in the right place for their eventual success. She hadn't been lying – she was just keeping the explanations simple. For while she hadn't quite mastered how to discern the orbits of realities, she had found that there was a correlation between dimensional orbits and stellar orbits. Chart the heavens and you can chart the dimensions… sort of. It was way too complicated to explain to anyone who hadn't gotten schooled in basic quantum engineering. In short, now had been the best, and only, time to secure a bridge to the Scouring. If she had waited even a month longer, the Scouring's dimension would have moved too far away to be linked to. It would take a good three centuries for the orbits to align once more, and even the Alchemist had limits to her patience.

Unlike normal stone-and-mortar bridges, dimensional bridges stretched with the distance between realities, like a fishing line on a reel that could extend out into infinity. The trick was to get the fish close enough to be hooked – once hooked, the fish was stuck on the line for as long as the line held strong.

Such explanations she kept to herself. The average human in this time period would look at her like she was in the process of sprouting feathers and clucking. Qiao had nodded her head during her early schooling like she was absorbing it all, but the Alchemist had known better. It was a discipline for the truly disciplined, not for free spirits like Qiao, and she had abandoned her attempts to teach it. Since the fall of the Artisan Empire, there had been only one soul that she had shared her knowledge with, one soul that seemed to grasp the enormity of her discoveries… and the end result of that information exchange had proven very dire.

Coming out of her bout of wistfulness, she meandered over toward the far side of the crystal tower and stared out at her newly christened fleet, the dark slumbering hulks moored to their docks. The soldiers had done good. While the cosmetic parts of the fleet remained unfinished, the ships were now sea-worthy and combat-worthy. She had inspected each one personally. They would serve well.

With the rest of the personnel gathered at the tower for the festivities (which included a free serving of drink and some of the better rations from the stores), the only eyes on the fleet were that of the Alchemist. Thus, she was the one to spot the first of the tiny blinks of light that began to emerge from the darkened ships, orange and blue dots that winked into existence, increasing in strength with time until the ships easily stood out in the water, silhouetted by their internal glows. Much like how the _Zenith's_ mystical glow would show up against the night if not for its mist generator. The ships were now fully enabled, each of them more than a match for a dozen warships from any nation on Earth.

Later, the men and women would see the ships aglow and marvel, assuming that the Alchemist had "lit" them when they weren't looking. This way, none of them had any suspicions as to how she did it. Even as she brought more light into the world, she kept some things in the dark.

The dragon had lost interest in the twinkle lights and now looked at her with that begging look she gave when she wanted to fly some more. The Alchemist's stomach had settled enough that she thought she would join her dragon in the sky tonight. The two of them rarely had such time to themselves, and it would be nice to enjoy one free evening together before the battles to come robbed her of any luxury time.

They'd just keep the acrobatics to a minimum.

* * *

The hidden mirror in the hallway reflected the torchlight dutifully, as any mirror is wont to do, though it did little to make the gloomy hallway brighter. Astrid's cell had a glow-stone in the ceiling, but the soft blue glow only served to make the mood more eerie. Not the feeling you wanted when you were plotting behind the backs of powerful people.

Heather made it her habit to keep the mirror in her peripheral vision the whole time she was sitting at the foot of Astrid's bed with the cell door wide open. With the help of another mirror positioned further along, she had created a basic warning system. If the light in the mirror winked out, it meant that someone was passing the first torch into the prison section of the building and was coming toward the cell, which gave Heather roughly five to seven seconds to get outside the cell. It should be enough of a warning.

Astrid sat cross-legged next to Heather, munching on a piece of fresh bread that Heather had pilfered from the mess hall. With all the fanfare going on outside, they wouldn't notice the theft as long as only the bread was stolen. Thievery wasn't tolerated in Sanctuary, and the Alchemist was good at sniffing out the criminals in her midst.

They had been listening to the sounds coming from outside, the cheers and the oos and ahs from the people gathered at the Alchemist's ceremony. There must have been something pretty amazing occurring to get that much reaction, but Astrid couldn't have cared less about seeing anything amazing. As long as it kept the crowd thrilled and not suddenly popping up at Astrid's cell, she was thrilled.

"The fleet leaves at sunrise tomorrow," said Heather, keeping her voice low as silent halls echoed better than noisy ones. "As you heard, I won't be leaving with them."

"Sounds like you were _trying_ to leave with them," said Astrid, her low voice tinged with skepticism. "What would've happened if you got assigned to one of the ships?"

"Wasn't going to happen," said Heather confidently. "I would've gotten mysteriously ill tomorrow morning if I had. But I knew the Alchemist wasn't going to let someone with my limited experience on her ship yet. I just had to make it look like I wanted to, for appearances."

"A risky move for appearances."

"Yeah, and it won't be our last." Heather glanced at her alarm mirror. No changes to the light, which was good. "If you haven't noticed, the only way we can get off this island is by ship, which gives us two options – stowing away or stealing something."

Astrid groaned. The perfect time to have a dragon and she was all out. "I suppose we're going to go with Option One?"

"I was thinking Option Two." Heather said it with that irritatingly confident tone, as if it was all so easy.

"Steal one of those big ships? It takes more than two Vikings to crew a longboat, much less one of those things."

"I was thinking something much smaller," said Heather. "There's a spot on the other side of the base where they keep Hunter platforms, the ones that aren't attached to the fleet. Those only require one pilot."

"The flying crab-like things?" Hiccup and Toothless had fought one of the flying platforms over the Repository and it had been a royal pain to take down. Riding on top of one did not occupy a space on her exciting-things-to-do list. Still, it did fly and it had its share of weapons and defenses, provided she could learn how to use them.

Heather nodded. "We've built a bunch of them. Most of the platforms seem to be… well, lacking the power to fly, like they're waiting for the Alchemist to install the right gem. She's not taking those platforms with her tomorrow, so they'll be still here, waiting for someone to fly them."

"You just got done saying they can't fly."

"_Most_ of them can't. I can figure out which ones can. It's kinda easy – they glow in the middle."

Astrid didn't want to keep sounding like a doubting Thornhammer, but her skepticism couldn't be satiated. "Recognizing whether or not they have power is one thing. But can you actually _fly_ one?"

This was where Heather's confident demeanor abruptly became less confident, and Astrid almost felt bad for deflating Heather's ego. "I… am learning."

That was not the answer Astrid wanted. "You're learning?"

"Remember how I picked up pointers about riding dragons back when I was… ah, coerced into spying for Alvin?"

"Hard to forget all that."

"Well, I'm managing to do the same thing here. I found a nice young pilot who's been teaching me how to gesture the right way. All you need is a control harness and you can direct the platform with hand movements."

"So how learned are you?"

Heather blew out an uncomfortable sigh. "I think I can get it off the ground. As for the rest of it…" Heather trailed off, deciding that there was no benefit in finishing the sentence.

That was _really_ not the answer Astrid wanted. "And you think we can escape on one of those platforms tomorrow?!"

Heather matched Astrid's angry look with one of her own. "If you have a better idea, spit it out, because here's where we stand. The Alchemist is going out to get back or destroy the _Zenith_, which shouldn't take too long as supposedly the ship's coming here with plans on taking over this island. If somehow the captain of the _Zenith_ wins, we're probably going to be put to death. But most likely, the Alchemist will win. Afterwards, she's going to launch an invasion somewhere, and I'm betting it's Riki Poka because that's the city I keep hearing over and over in conversations around here. When that happens, she'll take every last person on this island with her, including me. If you're lucky, she'll stick you on some deserted island so that you're out of the way and not warning anybody, and that assumes she's in a good mood at the time and doesn't just kill you as a safety precaution."

Heather's words sunk in hard. Astrid hadn't realized how quickly things were moving, and she had no reason to doubt Heather. The Alchemist wasn't about to let a potential threat to her plans go free. Hospitality didn't mean the Alchemist intended to keep her alive in the end.

Heather saw the fallen look in Astrid's eyes and softened her voice. "Astrid, we only have tomorrow for certain. After that, I could be whisked away any moment. If I can work on flying practice tomorrow, I will, but I also have to procure a control harness and get your axe back from the armory, and that's going to take up most of my time. This is the best I can come up with on short notice."

Heather's plan did not wow Astrid at all, but it was a plan, and considering that Heather was risking her life with such a cruddy plan when she could easily blend in with the rest of the Alchemist's troops and go about her merry way, Astrid felt like she couldn't look a gift dragon in the mouth.

"Then it's what we'll do," Astrid conceded. "We'll only have a handful of people here to worry about tomorrow, right?"

"A skeleton crew," said Heather, "and most of them won't be good warriors. We should get past them easily."

"We?" said Astrid in a teasing manner. "You may think you're all that, but I've been training with the best. You get me back my axe, and then you can relax while I do all the work."

"What, and let you have all the fun?" Heather teased back. They kept laughter out of the picture for fear of discovery, but their mutual smiles were earnest.

Something shifted in Heather's eyes as she checked on her alarm mirror, as if there was a topic on her mind that she had held back on the grounds of mutual cooperation. Astrid wondered if it was the same thing that was bugging her. It was certainly not the best time to broach it, what with escaping and everything, but Astrid felt that a certain clearing of the air was in order if the two of them were going to trust each other.

"Heather…"

"You and Hiccup, huh?" said Heather. Astrid was so caught off-guard that she forgot what she was going to say. Heather had nailed it exactly.

"The Alchemist called Hiccup your boyfriend, remember?" said Heather, answering the unspoken question on Astrid's face. "As did Sheen. I pay attention to those kinds of things. And I'm happy for you two, really." Heather snickered. "It was pretty obvious where you two were heading."

"You're not the first to say so," said Astrid. "When did _you_ figure it out?"

"Back when I was on Berk, spending time with Hiccup while you constantly daggered me with your eyes."

"I was daggering you because I didn't trust you at the time," said Astrid, frowning. "And, hey, I was right."

"Sure, and your feelings toward Hiccup didn't factor in at all," teased Heather.

Astrid rolled her eyes. "Whether or not my feelings had anything to do with me not trusting you doesn't really matter, does it? Yes, Hiccup and me are… together, and I plan on it staying that way. The question is… do you have a problem with that?"

Heather narrowed her eyes, looking confused for once. "Why would I?"

Astrid spread out her hands in a gesture of _isn't-it-obvious_. "Six months ago? Hiccup went to your village, remember? He never really talked about what happened."

Heather looked lost all of a sudden, like a ship captain who had just realized that his ship was sailing straight for a hurricane. "Uh… well, then you should take that up with Hiccup the next time you see him."

Astrid's glare was immediate. "Heather, I'm asking _you_."

"It really isn't important to what's happening now," dodged Heather.

"That's not a reassuring answer," said Astrid.

"I didn't hurt him, if that's what you're worried about," defended Heather. "Can we please drop this for now?"

"Drop it?" Astrid's voice rose in tone and volume as her frustration mounted. "You're making this sound worse and worse by the sec…"

Heather's hand darted to Astrid's mouth, the lost expression gone and replaced with panic. Heather put a finger to her lips as she got up from the bed, hoping Astrid was done with the ranting. Seeing the fear in Heather's eyes made Astrid immediately cooperate.

"Someone's coming," Heather whispered as she moved to the door. Astrid couldn't see the alarm mirror from her spot, but she took Heather's word for it. She hid the remaining bread under her bed pillow, hoping there wouldn't be any surprise inspections tonight.

Heather was out the door and closing it behind her in the space of a deep breath, making no noise save for the viewing slat on the door sliding into place. A fine bit of subterfuge, something Heather was remarkably gifted at. With any luck, the person approaching was just a random guard passing by and didn't have any interest in…

"Well, well, well," spoke a bitter voice. "If it isn't Ms. Professional herself, always on the job."

Astrid cringed. With the door shut Astrid could see nothing of the new arrival, but Sheen's voice was unmistakable in its clarity and rudeness. Sheen had never bothered to come this way before, which meant her arrival at her cell was no accident.

"Guarding the prisoner, as always," said Heather flatly. No teasing this time, which Astrid thanked her for.

"You missed all the fun," said Sheen. "The Alchemist can put on quite the show when she wants to. Not the same as a good dog fight or a public execution…"

"I'll take your word for it," said Heather. "Was there something you needed?"

"I thought we could hang," teased Sheen. "We get along so well together, like two peas in a rotten pod. In fact, I'm a little worried about you. All work and no play makes Heather a dull girl. You're taking all this way too seriously."

When it came to describing Sheen's personality, Astrid had a list of colorful adjectives at her disposal, most of which weren't to be used in earshot of children. She now added a noun to the list – bully. Heather's vocal act of defiance today had made her Sheen's new target of torment. It was the last thing they needed.

"I'll even do you a favor," continued Sheen. "You shouldn't have to miss out on any more fun. I'm going to put in a good word with the Alchemist on your behalf, so that instead of staying behind tomorrow and missing the action, you can ride on my ship, the _Firecracker_. Us two girls will go kick some traitorous butts. That'll fire up your career something fierce."

"I… don't think you should have to put yourself out there for me…" stammered Heather.

"Not at all. Great friends like us need to stand together in battle, watch each other's back. Things can go wrong in combat very quickly, and you need someone who can bail you out when you get in over your head." Sheen's voice was a menacing tease, and Astrid cringed again once she understood Sheen's intentions. She wanted Heather along so that Heather might suffer an "accident" during battle, or develop a sudden case of friendly fire. The problem was that Sheen probably had the influence, the skill, and the cruel mindset to pull it off.

There was only one thing Astrid could do. It wasn't smart, but the days of living smartly had long ago ended.

"Will you two be quiet?" Astrid yelled. "I'm trying to get some sleep in here."

The silence on the other side of the door was so deafening that Astrid feared that Heather and Sheen had somehow walked away without making any sound. Then the slot slid open and a pair of very focused eyes peered inside. Astrid hadn't moved from her bed, so they found her quickly. Astrid put a little grogginess into her movements, looking as if she'd just woken up.

"Excuse me, prisoner?" growled Sheen.

"You heard me," Astrid bravely replied. "I'm trying to sleep here and you two are squawking away like a pack of Terrors."

"Oh, am I ruining your beauty sleep?" said Sheen, deeply unhappy at the interruption and clear defiance. "I dare say I can ruin a lot more than that."

Astrid laughed at Sheen, feeling like she was tugging the tail of an irate Nightmare so that it got even more irate. "You can't do squat, Sheen. You told me so yourself. So shove off before I have one of my guards complain to the Alchemist."

She had just dared a sociopath. She could see the reaction almost immediately in Sheen's eyes. The woman's disdain for Heather had just been transferred… and doubled. Astrid kept up her defiant smile while secretly expecting a metal chain to immediately wrap around her neck and begin squeezing.

The slot slammed shut again. There was a long pause and then Sheen's deadly edged voice erupted from the other side of the door. "Change of plans, Heather. You can stay here and mind the mouthy brat. You don't deserve to be out there with the real warriors."

That was the end of the discussion, as a single pair of boots clomped away from the cell and receded into the air. A minute of silence passed where Astrid began to fear that Sheen had quietly dispatched Heather before leaving, propping up her body for the next guard to find so that they would blame the crime on Astrid. Thankfully, the slot opened again and dispelled that idea, Heather looking in with wide, frantic eyes.

"I can't tell if what you did was absolutely brilliant, or absolute insanity," she said. "There's no way she'll let that slide."

"Then let's hope she'll wait until after tomorrow to get her revenge," said Astrid. "In the meantime, you won't be going anywhere… except with me."

Heather blew out a sigh of relief and nodded. They had definitely dodged an arrow that time. Chances were good that they would be dodging lots of arrows come tomorrow.


	6. The Rocks Are Lying To Me

**Author's** **Notes (hey, remember** **these?):**

(Feel free to skip these, those of you reading my work post-2013)

So I just saw/read the newest info on HTTYD 2, and I have a few thoughts:

- Five years... they jumped things_ five years_. Why do I have the feeling they did that to either A) not interfere with the TV series, or B) push up Hiccup and Astrid's ages so that their inevitable romance isn't considered "too young?"

- Hiccup in riding armor: I think I called that one (though I'm probably not the only one). However, it's definitely not myssteel, so I can't claim to prognosticate too much. In fact, it even appears to having flying capabilities. Makes sense, since you can only fly on dragons for so long before someone figures out you need a parachute or the like to make more falls survivable.

- Hiccup meets a mystery person dubbed the Dragon Rider... huh. It's not Hiccup they're talking about, unlike in my series, but still...

And if said Dragon Rider turns out to be from an ancient civilization, I'm crying foul.

Onwards.

**Chapter Five: The Rocks Are Lying To Me**

In the eleven-hundred years of life that Arc had been blessed with, he had never climbed a mountain. Not even a hillside.

Three wasn't much point to climbing when you could fly everywhere, so it was one of the few adventures that he had yet to experience. He was halfway up the rocky side of the mountain when he concluded that it was not an adventure he ever wished to experience again. Not that he had a lot of problems with climbing – he could go places his less-ambulatory human companions couldn't go thanks to his claws and tail – but it was just so incredibly dull. He found himself looking at the summit every moment he wasn't occupied with his companions or searching for clues to a hidden cave or fortress. He yearned to whip into the air and reach the summit in minutes, but that would undoubtedly tip off any sentries to the presence of interlopers scaling the mountain. Still, he was almost willing to risk it if it meant being done with this tedious trek upward.

Tedium wasn't just dull – it was dangerous. Ever since spotting Cervantes on the Alchemist's warship, the necromancer transformed into a metallic abomination as opposed to his normal standard of abomination, Arc had felt like every second they wasted on search and travel was a second the world couldn't afford to lose. He had pegged the Alchemist as someone who knew how to handle power, even if her true aims were harsh and even monstrous, but Cervantes was nothing less than a full-on abuser of life, magic, and morality, and the world would burn under his newly minted might. As such, finding Sanctuary Island had been an exercise in excruciation, and this climb was proving no different. Trusting in Saga's visions was not something that came easily to the dragon, and if this affair wound up as a futile diversion he would be extremely put out. He had a world to save and his boy to find (not necessarily in that order) and he was too old for chasing wild geese.

Saga was certainly confident as she strode up the rocky trail, bravely stepping over loose rubble as if she knew precisely where to place every step. Saga was so fixated on her path that she failed to share this information with her companions. Qiao and Linebreaker struggled to keep up with her, and on more than one occasion Arc had to grab one or both of them when they stepped on the wrong rock and nearly triggered a rockslide that would've sent them careening down the mountainside.

The state of the trail suggested it was seldom used, which meant the chances of meeting a sentry were few. It also suggested the lack of a base for a sentry to guard.

They kept rest breaks few and far between, finding ledges wide enough for the humans to rest upon while Arc stayed vigilant, looking for signs of any habitation. No one had to express reminders of the urgency of their mission. Arc had done that days ago.

As dusk settled in, threatening to soon rob the party of their light source, the question of their evening plans arose. The trail had carried them two-thirds of the way up the mountain, past weatherworn boulders and piles of ancient stone that hadn't been touched by any living thing for ages, but the trail appeared to be coming to an end. Very abruptly, in fact, as the trail seemed to fade into nothing a hundred feet further up. Past that point, it would be a hard climb. The mountainside had grown sheerer towards the top, with no visible ledges or cliffs that could be used as resting points. For Arc, all this amounted to an inconvenience. For the others, it could be a death sentence.

Even Saga had finally awoken to reality, stopping at the last serviceable ledge before them and angrily staring up the mountain, as if accusing it of not playing along. Qiao and Linebreaker joined her, both exhausted and covered in a caked-on layer of grime from the trail.

"I'm not liking the look of this," said Qiao, sitting down and taking a sip from her waterskin. "I haven't seen a single cave anywhere."

"Would the Alchemist even use caves?" asked Linebreaker. He sat down next to Qiao and dabbed his forehead with a fancy handkerchief that was close to sodden with his sweat. "Maybe she makes the mountain open up with a snap of her fingers."

"I wouldn't put that past Alche," said Qiao. "She did design the Repository. She has a love for subterranean hideouts."

"It is not underground," said Saga, continuing her staring contest with the mountain.

"Is it in the clouds, then?" said Linebreaker. "Because if it was on the summit, we should've seen or heard some sign of it – a piece of foundation, a discarded chicken bone, the body of a minion who failed at gym practice…"

"It _is_ here somewhere," Saga insisted. "I am as certain of this as I was when I defied my own clan in order to save them from Cervantes."

"Well, your certainty needs to produce some actual evidence," said Qiao in an irritated voice, "because I'm not leaving this nice, safe ledge without a good reason."

Saga turned on Qiao, her cold eyes now on the thief. "You have come this far on my word alone, yet now you choose to doubt?"

"I came this far because I didn't really have any better leads to go on," shot back Qiao. "And I'm not doubting you so much as I'm allergic to falling to my death."

Saga held back her instinctive desire to insult the thief's courage. It was unfair to attack someone who was only pointing out the truth. Saga could see the end of the trail and there was no evidence of a secret hideout that could support the type of operation the Alchemist had been running.

"Regardless, I'm thankful for the exercise," said Linebreaker, in an effort to cheer things up. "Keeps me from expanding my waistline and popping too many seams. But we do have a decision to make, and soon, unless we want to spend the night on this ledge."

"It is _here_," insisted Saga, though her tone suggested a note of desperation. "We cannot go back. Not yet."

"Believe me, Saga, I want you to be right," said Qiao. "But..."

She trailed off upon realizing that their fourth member of their group had not contributed one syllable to the argument. She looked around and found Arc wasn't on the ledge with them. The dragon was further up the trail, having climbed onwards while they were resting. He was almost to the end of the path and had stopped short of it, studying the surrounding rock the way a botanist might study a dandelion for any signs of movement.

"What is Mr. Dragon doing?" asked Linebreaker.

Saga gestured for the two of them to stay put. She then turned and began moving up the trail, traveling at a careful pace, as the trail grew steeper and riddled with fallen rock. An instinct within her compelled her to keep silent, that unnecessary noise was to be kept to a minimum. As the dragon begrudgingly trusted her visions, she held the same begrudging relationship with Arc when it came to his habits. If he was up on the trail, quietly scrutinizing the terrain, then he had a compelling reason.

When she finally reached him, he hadn't moved from his spot one inch, clinging to the mountain with his claws tightly embedded in the rock. His reptilian eyes were closed and he looked more like he was meditating upon the mountain, a behavior that Saga had never seen before. Meditation was her deal, and despite her advocacy of its calming benefits she had little luck in convincing others of its value. She had never envisioned Arc would be the first one to try it.

Arc shifted his head slightly in her direction. "I didn't wish to disturb you and the others while you argued pointlessly. Besides, your ears aren't keen enough for this task."

"My ears?" Thanks to the power of suggestion, Saga listened for any unusual sounds. She heard the distant roar of the surf and the wind blowing against the rocks, but nothing else that seemed out of place.

"The rocks are lying to me," said Arc, in that tone of voice one made when what you thought you just said was a perfectly normal thing to say.

"Do the rocks speak to you often?" replied Saga, unable to resist an easy jab.

"Not often, but on occasion they do have a voice," said Arc. "An echo. The wind's voice is their voice… and it is not what it should be."

Arc adjusted his head, moving it closer to the rock face. "On the lower sections of the mountain, the rocks sounded normal. Here, right here in fact, the echo is distorted, like they aren't quite the same as their brothers."

"The rocks are false, then," said Saga, unable to keep the hope out of her tone. "Evidence of a hidden base."

"The rocks are normal," said Arc. "But something has been added." His eyes opened and he gave Saga a cautious look. "Go back down to the others and tell them to not linger on the edge of the ledge. I am about to do something dangerous, and regardless of whether it succeeds or fails there will be falling rock."

Saga wanted a better explanation than that, but the determined look on Arc meant that the dragon was not in a mood to be disobeyed. She did as she was instructed, leaving Arc alone with the lying rocks and his dangerous plan.

* * *

Several minutes later, Saga was back with Qiao and Linebreaker, explaining what had transpired with Arc, neither of whom were thrilled with the notion of falling rock coming their way. The three of them found an overhanging boulder that would make for adequate shelter from any rockslides, and they hunkered down, waiting for either a word from Arc saying the danger was past or a nasty tumult of stone rolling down the mountain.

They stayed like that for several minutes more, wrinkling their noses from their mutual sweat-soured body odor, when there was a popping sound from above, like a large cork exploding out of a wine bottle. A sudden whoosh of air followed, dust swirling against the main breeze for a few scant seconds before the powerful sea breeze reasserted dominance. Rocks did fall, but not the rockslide they had feared. A few chunky specimens thumped past their shelter, including one as big as a farmer's wagon that would've easily flattened all three of them, but their ledge was spared destruction.

Arc's voice rang down from above, prompting the three of them to come out and climb up the trail once more. Even in the fading light of the sunset, the change to the mountain was impossible to miss or mistake, and the three humans stopped and gawked at the sight before them.

Arc was now facing downward on the mountain, smiling at them with smug assurance. He had moved higher and was now perched above a sizeable hole in the mountain, the hole close to twenty feet in height and almost as wide. A hole… not a cave. Caves had tunnels and burrowed further into the earth. The other side of this hole was empty air, the blackening sky visible from where they were looking. Below the hole were a few empty spots where rocks once lived, forced out by Arc's machinations, but the size of the hole suggested that there should've been much more falling debris.

The hole was not on the trail, forcing the humans to climb a short distance to reach it. With the help of Arc's long tail as a scaly rope of sorts, they easily made it to the hole. Qiao was the first to reach the hole and pass through it, and her gawking only got worse after that, as it did for the others. Even Arc found himself impressed by the spectacle, though he hid it well.

Outside of the hole, the mountain looked just like a run-of-the-mill mountain. When Qiao touched the exterior, it felt like a slab of granite or sandstone. When she darted inside the hole… part of the mountain disappeared. The entire upper section, the peak and everything above the ground they were standing on, literally ceased to exist. Qiao had to poke her head inside and outside the hole to make sure she was seeing what she was seeing and not, you know, going crazy.

Once the shock wore off, she noticed that they were on a gentle slope heading down to what appeared to be an old caldera, and there were buildings down by a small lake, buildings that had a real Alchemist vibe to them. The sounds were different as well. The air was still, the ocean wind diverted or blocked from entering the caldera. Distant voices could be heard down by the buildings, chatter that confirmed that the buildings were inhabited, but otherwise the world had gotten a whole lot quieter. The noisiest thing around them was the wind blowing through the hole in the mystical field.

"I _knew_ this mountain looked bigger than I remember," said Qiao as the others came through the hole, Saga and Linebreaker also doing the inside-outside routine before coming to terms with the nature of the colossal illusion.

Arc came through and surveyed their surroundings for threats, finding nothing to be alarmed about. His gaze lingered on the base down below, but his true attention was directed at a strange rock formation positioned where the mountainside should have been. There were several of those formations all along the edge of the caldera, spaced out uniformly every few hundred feet. While they looked like piles of random stones heaped together, the uniformity suggested they had purpose other than decoration or ritual.

"How is it rock on one side and nothing on the other?" asked Linebreaker, his question aimed at Qiao, who could only shrug helplessly.

"This one's new to me," she replied. "Must be a recent invention by Alche."

"It is, in fact, an old invention," said Arc. He had moved to the closest rock pile and had removed a rock from the top. Underneath, buried inside the pile, was a pole-shaped device composed of mostly obsidian stone, save for the one radiant crystal in the middle that gave off a dark-blue glow before shifting to a strange rainbow effect that was alluring as it was baffling. Once the others had a look, Arc replaced the stone back in its original spot before anyone got too entranced.

"An old Artisan device," elaborated Arc. "Each of those rock piles contains a illusion-maker, powered by an Artisan powercore. They were used during the End War to hide strategically important assets – armies, resources, and key personnel. They project an energy field that mimics the look and texture of an inanimate, non-organic object. It feels real on the outside, but the field allows for those within its protection to see outward. They were of limited use as the war progressed, as the Ancestors learned how to bypass them. That is how the Hyperion learned of them, though we've had little need of the knowledge until now."

"I've never seen these before," said Qiao. "Either Alche hid them from me, or they've been up here the whole time, deactivated until Alche decided to use them," She then gave Saga an apologetic look. "I guess your nose knows what it knows, right?"

"If that is your version of an apology for doubting me, I accept," said Saga.

Linebreaker had his attention on the not-very-subtle hole in the energy field behind them. "This hole is quite obvious. Should the denizens of this base look this way, they will know their defenses have been breached."

"The field will regenerate itself shortly," reassured Arc. "But it would be wise of us to find a place to camp in a different spot."

Qiao gave Arc an incredulous look. "Shouldn't we, I don't know, start investigating the base?"

Arc shook his long neck. "Night will fall upon us soon and we have little knowledge of the geography, much less the numbers and strength of the forces we may encounter. We have found the lair of our enemy, and it would be prudent to not rush in like hatchlings at feeding time."

"I agree," said Saga. "Caution is warranted."

* * *

No further arguments cropped up as the companions circled the upper edge of the caldera. Most of the ground was smooth rock or compacted dirt, but there was plenty of jagged stone to keep any suspicious eyes at bay. Arc remained Shrouded and grounded the whole time, leading the way and using his superior senses to watch for trouble. To their fortune, not a single sentry or guard had come their way, and Arc observed that the hole he had created with his lightning had sealed up as predicted. So far, it seemed that their intrusion had gone unnoticed, but no one believed it would stay that way for long.

They were still in transit when a party of some kind began in earnest down at the base, and Arc was the first to spy the crowd gathered beneath the horrid crystal tower that bore an unsettling resemblance to a monstrous starfish. He stopped mid-step, Qiao running into his nigh-invisible tail. Qiao almost complained when she noticed the source of Arc's distraction and dropped her prepared remark.

The four of them found decent cover to hide behind while they watched, but Arc suspected it was not necessary. All eyes were on the crystal tower and on the speaker standing before it. In the growing gloom, it was hard for him to make out who it was, much less hear the speech being given. The others had it even worse, having human eyes and all.

"Some kind of celebration," said Linebreaker. "And here I am without my finery."

"I don't think we made the guest list," said Qiao.

Saga was eerily silent, staring at the proceedings as if it was a puzzle needing to be unraveled and that the answer would manifest if she just looked at it long enough. The speaker was not Cervantes, that much was evident, yet he or she held the crowd's attention as thoroughly as a king might command the attention of his subjects. Someone had filled out the Alchemist's boots very nicely, but who had the talent to do so in such a short time since her demise?

Then the half-metal Night Fury took flight, carrying the speaker on her back as if the two were melded together, and Saga felt the world go catawampus all at once, not bad enough to make her sway or feel faint but strong enough to rob her of her power of speech. The visions suddenly made more sense now, the figure riding before the storm of chaos in their future now wearing a familiar face.

Arc figured it out when Dark Star began her acrobatic routine in the air, flying close enough at one point for him to identify her rider. Unlike Saga, his mouth continued to work just fine, and his bewildered mind let slip the name.

"The Alchemist."

Qiao hadn't been paying as much attention as Arc or Saga. Speeches bored her in general, especially ones she couldn't make out the words to. She had decided to keep a watch for any patrols or wandering goons and hadn't seen the dragon take off until Arc uttered that cursed name.

"What?!" exclaimed Qiao, her eyes darting to the flying dragon and its rider. Her eyes were great, they had to be when you were an expert archer, but they didn't do well in the dark and it took her disbelieving eyes many seconds to see the truth that she didn't want to accept.

Linebreaker took it the best, looking at his stunned comrades, looking at the mob and the air show, and then titling his head in curiosity. "Really?" he said. "I'd say that I'm amazed, but I've been in a constant state of amazement since you lot hired me."

They watched the rest of the ceremony in silence, watched as the Alchemist landed her eternal companion on top of the tower, watched as she did something that implanted a fast-growing crowd of dancing lights into the tower, lights that soon encompassed the entire structure, turning it into something both hideous and beautiful, alluring and terrifying. For while none of them understood the significance of the crystal tower's inner light, none of them could fool themselves into believing it was harmless theater.

As the crowd engaged in a raucous party celebrating whatever occasion the lighting of the crystal tower signified, the companions dipped behind cover once more, shocked faces all around. Arc let slip his Shroud, his eyes narrow and his mouth locked in a grimace. "I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised. Someone who has survived twenty-thousand years would surely have a few means of escaping certain death at her disposal."

"That's Alche for you," said Qiao, her voice quiet and distant. "The smartest person on the planet."

Saga looked like she had something to say, but for some reason held her tongue. Her frost-mask had cracked again, as if someone was trying to hammer an emotion out of her and she was struggling to suppress it.

"Are you okay, Qiao?" asked Arc, completely ignoring Saga in favor of the lost-looking thief. His words elicited a gruff laugh from Qiao.

"Okay? My adopted mother, someone who lied to me about my real heritage and may be trying to take over the world, is still alive and still trying to take over the world… and you ask me if I'm okay?" Qiao laughed again. "Not sure where to start with that one."

"Real heritage?" asked Linebreaker. Like Saga, he wasn't privy to the truth about Saga's nature, but unlike Saga he actually looked curious.

"Long story for another time," she replied, waving his question away like it was a gnat. She stared at Arc with new fierceness. "If she's alive and resuming her plans, then I don't know about you, but I intend to stop her."

Arc didn't look convinced of Qiao's pragmatic view of her surrogate mother's return from the grave, but he nodded without questioning matters further. "The camp will be too active tonight for us to probe further. We wait until morning… and see what transpires."

He glanced at Saga, who nodded grimly. He half-expected some debate with the Seer, even a vision-inspired insight or two, but she kept her counsel to herself.

Night soon pulled its black cloak around them all, the moon hidden behind a floating parade of thick clouds and further aiding the group as they found their way to their new campsite. A pile of teardrop-shaped boulders offered the best cover, the ground free of any footprints or litter that would indicate that the base dwellers patrolled this direction. A fire was out of the question – too easy to be spotted, even with the boulders as an obstacle – but the magic field hiding the Alchemist's base seemed to keep the night from growing too cold. Blankets and cloaks made the night air tolerable.

It may have seemed natural for the evening conversation to center on the unexpected appearance of the Alchemist, or on the starry tower now acting as a second night sky in the middle of the base, illuminating the adjacent buildings in an ever-present glow, but fatigue of a physical and emotional nature had set in and sleep was welcomed by all. Plans would be made come the sunrise, when minds were fresher.

A watch was set and Saga took the first shift, parking her lithe form in the shadow of a rocky outcropping away from the camp. The land was sloped and obstacle free for many yards – no one would sneak up on her without the aid of strong magic. Alas, strong magic was what the Alchemist dealt in, so Saga had to hope the Alchemist had no reason to send her Night Fury their way or any other invisible scouts she might have at her disposal.

As a child of the Gunnarr, she had been trained to keep an active mind at all times while on guard. But tonight, she had other matters intruding. Having watched the Alchemist take flight, she was now more inclined to believe in the impossible, and if one impossible thing had occurred, surely another impossible thing could follow.

The first impossibility: the Alchemist had escaped the destruction of the Repository. The second impossibility: that Astrid had as well.

They had fallen together into the abyss, Astrid and the Alchemist, and yet the Alchemist had survived. While that fact was hardly proof of her good friend's survival, the Seer part of Saga knew that sometimes the flimsiest of proof could lead to the truth. She had no vision to support her belief, though she had no vision to deny it, either. For once, she was making a leap of faith of her own. It was such a big leap that she had kept it from the others, particularly Arc, who was a skeptic of visions even on the best of days. No, she would not give the others false hope, not unless she was certain.

She felt very childish right now. A child was one who desired the return of a loved one who had gone on to the afterlife, for a child did not understand the nature of finality. A child fantasized. A child dreamed. Saga hadn't been a child ever since her mother went to join the clan's ancestors in the Halls of the Ancients. She understood loss, and even though Astrid's death had hit her as no death had since her early childhood, she had handled it as she always did – with honor, duty, and thoughts of revenge against those responsible.

But honor and duty were pale, sickly things compared to the emptiness she felt with Astrid's absence. Her morning exercises had no thrill, no joy, without Astrid there to spar with. One of the two true friends in her life had been taken away, and no amount of Gunnarr conditioning could make it better. The quest they were on had kept her focused, but only so long as they had momentum. Now, stalled right before the next stage of their journey, the emptiness within her felt like a gaping chasm she couldn't bridge.

But now… there was a chance. Down there in the Alchemist's base were the answers. Saga knew that she would not rest until she was face to face with the Alchemist and forcing her to cough up the truth about Astrid. And if Astrid truly was forever gone… the Alchemist would not survive this time.

"If you are there, Sister," whispered Saga toward the silent base below, "I will find you. And if you are not… I will make them all pay."

* * *

Many miles away and steadily closing in on the island of Sanctuary, a large warship plowed through choppy seas and errant waves, hidden from the eyes of land dwellers through distance and the constant cloak of night. The sea life knew it was around, but the sheer amount of water it displaced sent ripples of fear through the local waters, and most of the aquatic inhabitants in the area wisely gave the vessel a wide berth.

Cervantes was one of the few still awake aboard the ship. It was always this way. Sleep was no longer an option, for sleep was unnecessary for beings made of steel, but it made for long, lonely hours in the dark. And he had grown tired of living on the deck of the _Zenith_, keeping a constant eye on the soldiers under his command. They were as trustworthy as hungry mice in a room full of cheese, but they cooperated to his satisfaction. Now that he had learned what he could about the Catalyszier and its functions, there was no point in staying outside. He had never been a fan of people, and he desperately needed time to think.

He had maneuvered his metal frame into the main cargo hold, the birthplace of his second life, the room he had spent many days as a prisoner of his own body until Cragfist gave him the energy he required. Here, he could keep to his own counsel without distraction. He had acquired a stack of books to peruse if he desired, but most of his time had been spent on the last mystery he wished to solve, but couldn't.

Hunched over a small table, Cervantes's glowing eyes were fixed on a cylindrical tube as thin as a human finger and as long as a beer stein. Unlike the other devices in the Alchemist's library of technology, this object had little mineral composition to it. The outer cylinder was pure carved ivory, smooth as silk and white as bleached bone. A pair of green gems adorned the device, one at each end, the gems cut to fit the circumference of the cylinder perfectly. Cervantes didn't recognize the type of gem – close to an emerald, but it appeared to suck in the light instead of reflecting it, making it darker than normal.

Cervantes rolled it back and forth on the table with a cold metal finger, fiddling with it in the hopes that inspiration would hit. Despite all that he had learned about the Catalyszier and the _Zenith_, despite the preparations he had made for the inevitable battle with the Alchemist's forces on the morrow, he still seemed to lack the talent to understand True Alchemy and all its secret ways. He had grown to suspect that True Alchemy was as much an art as a science, much like necromancy or the other mystical arts that existed in the world. Not everyone could wield magic, only those whose intuition allowed them to tap into wells of power both within and without.

It also required a synthesis of mind, body, and soul, and while Cervantes still had a mind, his body was long gone (and there were questions as to whether his soul had departed as well, though Cervantes had given up on that sickly thing centuries ago). His second life had cost him the use of his necromancy. He still knew what he knew, but now he couldn't even make a chicken bone dance to his whims, much less construct abominations. He had hoped to substitute True Alchemy in place of his old powers, but while he could manipulate certain alchemical devices with his mind, the power of creation remained out of his grasp.

Perhaps the secret resided within the cylinder. Surely something important was contained inside the little cylinder of ivory. The Alchemist had seen fit to keep it in her personal quarters, so it had to have…

"You summoned me?"

Cervantes turned to the owner of the lackadaisical voice from the stairway. Cragfist stood halfway up the stairs, poised as if hoping to leave at the earliest opportunity. The Viking's demeanor had gotten worse over the last few days, his enthusiasm all but dead and buried. He didn't seek out punishments for the crew, he showed up with his uniform crumpled and his hair resembling a rat's nest, and his eyes had that spooky look you saw in people with a deficiency in sanity. Even watching Norom crack under Cervantes's interrogation, the half-troll writhing in pain while confessing the final details of the _Zenith's_ armaments, had done nothing to cheer up the fallen warrior.

Cervantes had been patient until now, attempting to give Cragfist the time he needed to come to terms with his new life. But Cragfist seemed determined to self-destruct. Self-loathing was often a terminal disease, and unless Cragfist found some way to deal with his issues, and soon, Cervantes would have to go shopping for a new First-In-Line.

_All quiet on deck?_ Cervantes asked, his eyes flashing with each syllable.

"As usual," Cragfist replied flatly.

_What of the modifications to the siege-cannons?_

"The last few are being prepped as we speak. The night crew tells me they'll be finished by dawn."

_They had best be, or the night crew will not see the light of day._ Cervantes reached out and grabbed the ivory cylinder with his right hand, careful to apply as little pressure as possible. His sense of touch wasn't what it used to be – too easy to crush things these days underneath his myssteel claws.

_Come to me and stay still_, he ordered. In the past, such a command would've garnered a doubting look or hesitation or even a plain question about Cervantes's intentions. But Cragfist stepped up without complaint or resistance, offering himself unflinchingly.

_Good. Now tell me if anything occurs when I do this._ Cervantes carefully placed one end of the cylinder on Cragfist's forehead and waited for a reaction from the Viking. Cragfist blankly looked at his metal master, then shrugged. Frowning, Cervantes mentally commanded the cylinder to activate in several different languages, including Ancient Artisane. Neither the cylinder nor Cragfist showed any reaction. Cervantes said the same words out loud, but the result was the same.

Cervantes took away the device and placed it on the table. Cragfist had had the perfect opportunity to mock his efforts, but the sullen Viking merely stood there with a blank expression, waiting to be dismissed. Frustrated with the lack of cooperation from the device and the listlessness of his First-In-Line, Cervantes turned away from Cragfist so to avoid the temptation to use the Viking for target practice.

_Are you even curious why?_ he said, his tone that of an angry tutor of a student who kept missing the obvious.

"Does it matter?" said Cragfist.

Cervantes scoffed and faced the Viking once again. _You were a fearsome thing when we first met. You were ready to take on every dragon in Berk by yourself, if I remember correctly. So full of misplaced exuberance and bluster. Yet here you are now, ready to lie down and die. You're practically a corpse now. Are you so weak-willed that a few unexpected defeats brings you so low?_

Cragfist said nothing. His lifeless gaze all but confirmed Cervantes's words.

_The gift of immortality would be wasted on you_, continued Cervantes. _Though, to be fair, it would be wasted on almost anyone. Few understand the rigors of living multiple lifetimes, the ebb and flow of time's passage, the highs and lows of watching life grow and diminish around you while you stay the same. There was only one other that understood the weigh of seeing the world in such a way, and she's now entombed under the sea._

There was a spark of interest in those dull eyes, a slight tilt of the head. "The Alchemist? I thought you _wanted_ her dead."

_Of course I did,_ said Cervantes, _but it wasn't always that way. We were alike in many ways, possessing of power that put us above the majority of mortals in this world. Had our ideals been… compatible, the two of us might have secured our place as master and mistress of this world. But, oh, such misguided goals on her part. You see, I appreciate the nature of power and I know that either you wield it onto others or it is wielded onto you. The Alchemist? She saw it as a necessary tool for a bigger purpose. I think she would gladly give it all up if doing so accomplished her goal._

"Which was?"

Cervantes snickered. _A better world. That's what she told me. A world where the excesses of humanity have been checked. A world where the humans live peacefully, both with each other and with nature. But she wants to give the humans a choice, as if that would somehow make her actions okay. And when I asked what this choice really was, she played coy and said, "You'll see."_

Cragfist frowned. "So you don't know what she was trying to do?"

_The specifics? No. I saw what the Catalyszier could do, and I saw the power of her warship, and I even learned of the armada she was planning to bring to life. Whatever her true goal was, it was designed to reshape everything we know. That's what I was hoping this object on the table would tell me._ Cervantes motioned to the cylinder. _One does not go to the effort of building such powerful weapons and then stakes everything on a choice that is out of your hands to make. If she truly was offering humanity a choice, it would be a choice offered at the dangerous end of a siege cannon._

Cragfist had no idea what any of that meant, so he gestured at the cylinder and said, "What would that thing have done to me, if it had worked?"

_It would impart knowledge,_ said Cervantes. _The Alchemist is not one to keep her personal thoughts and secrets written down where others can see. But like any person of learning, she needed a way to collect her thoughts, store them as they came to her. This device takes such thoughts and keeps them safe, inaccessible to all save the one who created them. I had hoped to find a means to get around that sticking point, much like I did with the Catalyszier, but to no avail. Thankfully, we already know what we need to know to win the day tomorrow. After all, the Alchemist is dead, and all her plans with her._

After Cervantes sent Cragfist off to get some needed rest, Cervantes picked up the device he had decided to call a thought-log and placed it in a protective crate where he kept a few other knick-knacks. He didn't bother to lock it – nothing in it was worth stealing, or would be useful to anyone should they steal it.

Cervantes then decided that it would be prudent to do a personal check of the ship, as you couldn't rely on the help to pick out every fly in the ointment. He opened the sliding doors to the ship's hold and floated up to the deck as quietly as a feather falling upward. His metal body had retained the ability to fly like the Guardians he had sent out to battle during the Battle of the Monolith, but he did so sparingly and for short distances. Such efforts sapped his power, and if too much was drained then he would have to start cannibalizing more devices on the ship for more power.

Having already dismissed Cragfist from his presence, it was easy for him to miss seeing Cragfist sneaking back down the stairs, heading for the place where Cervantes had hidden the thought-log.


	7. Morning Exercises

**Chapter Six: Morning Exercises**

Along the great northern coast of Africa, the sun was barely peaking over the horizontal cloudbank in the east when a series of crackling explosions resounded in an otherwise quiet land. The local sea birds chose to steer clear of the raucous affair, giving the young Viking and his feisty, loyal steed plenty of free airspace to continue their target practice.

Hiccup stood near (but not too near) a seaside cliff with his left arm cradling a bag full of pebbles he had scavenged, his right arm cocked and at the ready, aiming toward the ocean. Toothless stood nearby, watching his rider's hand with rapt eagerness. To an uninitiated observer, it might seem that the dragon was playing a game of fetch with his rider. Anyone who knew anything about Night Furies could immediately correct them on this erroneous assumption.

"'Kay, pal, long bomb," said Hiccup, letting loose a hard throw, the rock curving upward and then quickly curving downward as gravity kicked in. Toothless let the rock sail away for two, maybe three seconds, then aimed his mouth and fired a tiny blast of blue. The plasma bolt met the failing rock and detonated with a puff of flame and rock dust, the pebble disappearing in the smoke, disintegrated or blown asunder.

"Ten for ten," said Hiccup. He took three pebbles in his hand and cocked his arm back again. "Let's try three at once."

Hiccup swore Toothless had just given him a _you-call-that-a-challenge?_ look right before he tossed all three pebbles in the air. Perhaps he had, as the dragon fired three separate bolts, one right after the other, and pegged each pebble with perfect precision. The grit from the blasts wafted back on Hiccup, coating him in a sandy powder and eliciting a slight laugh from the smiling Toothless.

"Right, like you planned that." Hiccup lowered his bag of target rocks and proceeded to brush the grit out of his hair. "I think you've gotten enough practice this morning, smart guy." Hiccup didn't usually spend much time on target practice with Toothless anyway. Toothless could anticipate aerial trajectories better than any human archer. It seemed to be a natural ability of Night Furies, the one trait that had made Vikings cower in fear of them for centuries. But it didn't pay to let Toothless get rusty, especially when trouble had a nasty habit of making surprise visits.

Unperturbed by the end of target practice, Toothless turned and gave a wary eye to the one onlooker watching their training. Proto had parked his metal body on top of a residual boulder, as if he was practicing for a game of king-of-the-hill, and had been studying Hiccup and Toothless go through their routine, his three-eyed head swerving to track Hiccup's movements in particular. Toothless always gave the Guardian a wide berth and a mistrustful glare, as he was not too keen on trusting the walking, talking machine. To be fair, it wasn't just Toothless. Bark/Belch was even less thrilled with Proto, his two heads occasionally snapping at it if it got too close. Proto was just too alien for the dragons to accept willy-nilly, so the Guardian had been instructed to keep a respectful distance for now, and Proto politely obeyed. Sitting on the boulder was apparently Proto's idea of keeping out of the way.

"We're done, Proto," said Hiccup. "You don't have to stay up there."

Proto took Hiccup's words as permission to come closer. He immediately crawled down the boulder and moved toward Hiccup, a bit too fast for Toothless's liking as the dragon growled as it approached. Proto must have sensed the dragon's consternation and he stopped in mid-step. Hiccup reassured his pal with a hand on the dragon's snout.

_Dragon Toothless destroyed 100% of targets,_ said Proto. _Human Hiccup did not destroy any targets._

"Yeah, the practice is more for him than for me," explained Hiccup. "Sometimes I don't know why I bother. In all our years together, he's never missed a single rock I've thrown."

_Human Hiccup not throwing hard enough to accomplish goal._

"Well, I'm not trying to trip him up or anything." Hiccup then remembered Nestor's warning about talking with Proto – if you weren't careful, the machine could argue about a single subject all day long. So he changed tactics. "If you want, you can join in the fun next time and see if you can do better."

_This unit cannot project combustion-based energy._

"Uh… true, but you can throw things, right?"

Proto took a moment to contemplate Hiccup's question. _This unit duplicates Human Hiccup's role. This is acceptable to Dragon Toothless?_

Hiccup turned to Toothless. "What you say, bud? You game to see if a machine can beat you at target practice?"

Toothless didn't object exactly, but he didn't waggle his head very enthusiastically either. Hiccup took it as being "acceptable" and offered the pebble-bag to Proto. One of his gripper claws came down and gently extracted a single gray pebble. The gripper moved up a few inches and then froze in place as Proto looked out toward the brightening sea, no doubt analyzing the best way to throw his pebble.

This went on for a few seconds, Proto frozen in place while Toothless looked on with growing impatience, his eyes narrowing as the seconds ticked by. Afraid that Proto might irk his dragon pal and cause an incident, Hiccup cleared his throat and said, "It's not super-hard, Proto. Just throw it out at the sea."

_Calculating optimum trajectory_, said Proto.

"It's just target practice, you don't have to calculate any…"

WHOOSH!

Proto's arm whirled so fast that Hiccup thought it might have blinked out of existence for a moment. The pebble literally whistled as it left Proto's grip, flying out so rapidly that Hiccup could barely follow its flight path. Toothless was quick on the draw and launched one of the quickest fireballs Hiccup had ever witnessed coming out of this dragon's mouth. Hiccup watched as the two projectiles met each other in the air… and then kept going their separate ways.

It was rare to see a dragon's jaw drop in shock, but Toothless had done just that. Hiccup had to muffle his laughter to not hurt his pal's feelings as the rock flew into the ocean below, swallowed up with barely a splash.

_Target grazed by plasma, but not directly contacted, _explained Proto.

"I don't believe it," said Hiccup. "Nestor told me that you take awhile to get going, but when you do get going, you're amazing."

_Does Dragon Toothless desire a new target?_ offered Proto. Toothless simply glared at Proto and then walked away, heading back to the rest of the camp.

"I'd take that as a no," said Hiccup. "Let's get back to the others. We need to get flying soon."

Unfortunately, without Toothless, who was apparently a sore loser when it came to fireball practice, getting back meant walking, which wasn't as easy a deal as it once was. Hiccup took at best five steps before his metal foot started making clunking sounds, the spring-based shocks seizing up. Hiccup groaned but kept on walking, as he could only fix it while he was sitting down. Not that he could actually fix it, as he didn't have the tools on him to do so, but he could straighten it out for another hundred steps. What he wouldn't give to have access to a blacksmith shop right about now – he was barely keeping his foot and Toothless's saddle and rudder linkup running with what few tools he had on him.

_Efficiency of Human Hiccup's false leg decreased by 24%,_ commented Proto unhelpfully. _Degradation will continue unless repairs completed._

"Tell me something I don't know," replied Hiccup.

_This unit can conduct repairs._

That made Hiccup stop in his tracks and look at the machine. "You?"

_This unit has studied false foot design for 7.2 accumulated hours. Superficial damage can be repaired and pivot joint rectified for increased movement. Is this acceptable to Human Hiccup?_

Hiccup wasn't sure what to say. It was a nice offer, but all his mechanical projects were, well, his. He couldn't let someone else, or something else, do the work for him. Beside, could he trust Proto to not break it? He only had the one foot, and without it he'd be hopping all the way to the next smithy.

"Let me think about it," he said, trying to be polite to a machine that didn't seem capable of taking offence at anything. But he soon decided to take Proto up on his offer when the next step he took on his metal foot caused the springs to jam up completely, turning the short walk back to camp into a jarring limp-fest.

* * *

Another type of practice was going on in the camp, this one involving a bit more hands-on activity, or heads-on activity in the case of Ruff and Tuff.

"Remember, stance is important," instructed Nestor, standing off to the side as the Twins faced each other. They stood within a circle outline that he had drawn in the dirt, unarmed save for their horned helmets and their general desire to injure and be injured.

"Balance is the key in combat," continued Nestor. "Getting tripped up is a good way to lose a fight, and it happens more often than you'd think. So show me your combat stance."

Ruff and Tuff both looked at Nestor, confusion thick on their faces. "We _are_ in our combat stances," stated Ruffnut.

"Yeah, this is right before we start in with the head-butting," said Tuffnut. "Then there's the kicking and biting and punching."

"Followed up by the two of us down on the ground, wrestling until one of us gives up and eats dirt," said Ruffnut.

"You're eating it today, by the way," taunted Tuffnut at his sister.

"Yeah, keep talking," retorted Ruffnut. "You're going to eat so much dirt you'll have mud coming out your…"

"Hold it, hold it," said Nestor, frowning. "That's your idea of fighting?"

The Twins shrugged in unison. "Why? Doesn't it count?" said Tuffnut.

Nestor made a _you-have-to-be-kidding_ face. "Well, if we went by the technical definition of fighting…"

"So you're saying we've been doing it wrong the whole time?" said Ruffnut, a little crestfallen at the news.

"Seems like it was working pretty well before," said Tuffnut.

"But he's an expert at this kind of thing," said Ruffnut, looking at her brother but gesturing at Nestor. "If he says so…"

"If _he_ says so?" Tuffnut said unhappily. "How is he suddenly an expert?"

"I have been through a few fights…" started Nestor, but he cut himself off once he realized he was being officially ignored by the Twins as their argument heated up.

"He's certainly better than you," said Ruffnut. "He also bathes regularly."

"Oh, your almost-boyfriend bathes. La-di-da."

"I'll la-di-da you over the cliff, you son of a…"

"I think I see the problem here," said Nestor, moving between the Twins before he could witness their idea of "fighting". "Has no one taught you two actual combat before?"

"Gobber tried a few times," said Tuffnut, calming down but still giving her brother dirty looks. "After the last attempt I think he gave up, saying something about letting nature take its course."

"Always with you two… together, am I right?" The Twins shrugged, not seeing the issue yet. Nestor sighed, mentally promising to never volunteer himself for anything Twin-related ever again. "How about we do this one at a time?"

"You mean, not together, but separately?" said Tuffnut, having trouble wrapping the concept around his brain. "I don't get it."

"He means he trains me first, then you next," said Ruff, quicker, and happier, to embrace the idea than her brother.

"Why you first?" asked Tuff, frowning that semi-jealous frown he got around Nestor.

"It doesn't have to be…" started Nestor, but the dangerous look Ruffnut immediately gave him caused him to wisely not finish his statement.

"Ruffnut goes first, then," he quickly said, ushering an unhappy Tuffnut out of the circle, where he went to stand next to his two-headed Zippleback, Barf-Belch. The dragon had been standing over a pile of yesterday's catch of trout, its two heads alternating between eating fish and nipping at each other over who had the pleasure of eating the next fish, despite it all ending up at the same destination.

The separation proved effective, though not especially pleasant. Ruffnut proved to be a decent student on her own, willing to cooperate on stance and follow Nestor through a few basic moves designed to evade incoming attacks. This was done under Tuffnut's scrutinizing and almost baleful gaze, as if he suspected that something _else _might occur if he wasn't watching. Nestor kept Ruffnut looking away from her brother, in case seeing him was enough to cause an argument.

Nestor wanted to reassure the young Viking that his worries were for naught, as the whole Nestor-Tuffnut business had been put to rest days ago… at least to Nestor's satisfaction. But he did wonder if Ruffnut's cooperate manner was entirely professional. She had told him that she wanted to branch out from her role as village troublemaker, that she wanted to help Hiccup, avenge Astrid, and see more of the world in the process. She had adapted to the wilderness life better than most, especially when compared to her brother, who seemed determined to cause a brother-sister altercation every hour or so. Still, Ruffnut occasionally sent a goofy smile Nestor's way that he had trouble rationalizing away as anything other than latent infatuation. Perhaps she hadn't completely given up all romantic ideas.

Nestor might have found it flattering if not for two things. First off, Ruffnut was a bit… well, he had trouble coming up with a nice word for _crazy_. She and her brother approached life with as much common sense as you could fit in a thimble, and that was for both of them _combined_. Their loyalty to Hiccup was admirable, and Ruffnut obviously felt a desire to change her life in some fashion, but Nestor had a feeling that having a perpetual barrier shield wouldn't be enough to spare him all the bruises and pounding he'd get hanging around with the Twins. And it would definitely be "the Twins," because Tuffnut would never leave his sister alone for long.

Second, and most importantly, was Saga. Truth be told, he missed her more than he let on to the others. Whether it was her take-charge attitude or calm demeanor in the face of overwhelming odds, or just that warm feeling he got when she lowered her guard in front of him, he found his thoughts more on her than on Arc. What made it worse was the fact that he knew Arc lived thanks to Lothar's Hyperion connection, but he remained ignorant of her well-being. He had to trust that Arc had saved the day, and if you couldn't trust an 1100-year old dragon on such matters, whom could you trust?

But when it came to sharing his feelings, his options were limited. Ruff and Tuff? No… just no. Proto knew nothing about things like love and human relationships. And Hiccup? Normally, Nestor would think so, but after what happened to Astrid… such things were not proper topics of conversation for one with a shattered heart.

Some time after Nestor began his tutelage of Ruffnut (where his one success involved convincing her that head-butting was not the end-all, be-all of combat moves), Toothless came back to the camp without Hiccup and went right to the ash-covered sleeping spot he'd made the night before. He plopped down rather briskly and proceeded to ignore everyone, though he refused to sleep. It was later that Nestor hit upon the best word describing Toothless's mood: pouting. The dragon, for whatever reason, seemed to be pouting.

A rather pronounced pattern of squeak-and-thump walking announced Hiccup's arrival, Proto trailing behind. Hiccup's metal foot now made downright hideous noises with each step as he moved to a rocky seat near his sulking dragon, eliciting curious stares from Nestor and the Twins.

"That doesn't sound good," said Tuffnut, displaying his usual lack of tact. "Your leg's on its last legs."

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious, as always," said Hiccup, uncoupling his false foot from his stump and holding it out Proto's direction, resignation on his face. A tentacle quickly seized it and retracted, bringing Hiccup's foot level with the machine's head. Proto lowered his body to the earth, freeing up his other tentacles so they could go to work. Two tentacles held the metal foot between their grippers, a third hovering over it like a cobra about to strike.

As the others watched, a burst of electrical charge jumped between two of the prongs of the third tentacle, at first lightning-quick in its existence and then gaining frequency and steadiness until a continuous string of mini-lightning ran through the gripper, cracking and spitting as if it was alive and feisty. Proto lowered the electrical arc to the metal and zapped it repeatedly while his fourth tentacle conducted a series of rapid movements along the leg, bending and straightening parts with a precision no human blacksmith could match. The leg rotated and twirled in Proto's grasp, a mesmerizing display of craftsmanship that both amazed and intimidated the others, Hiccup in particular. He was certainly nervous about losing his only prosthetic, but it also felt like he was witnessing the end of blacksmithing as he knew it.

"So… Proto and your foot," said Nestor. "You trust him with it?"

_Time estimation on repairs: 5.2 minutes_, declared Proto off-hand, as if Nestor had asked him the question.

"Apparently, the answer is yes," said Hiccup, surprised by his own trusting attitude. He looked over at Toothless and was almost sorry he had, as the dirty look he had given Proto had grown dirtier and was now directed at his rider.

"Why are you all sore?" said Hiccup. "He's just fixing my leg. You're not still mad that Proto beat you at target practice, right?"

Toothless answered by turning his head away and swishing his tail around so that his tail rudder blocked eye contact between him and Hiccup. It was the dragon equivalent of dismissal.

"Great, now I'm in the dragon house with Toothless," said Hiccup. "Lesson learned – never show up a Night Fury."

Ruff and Tuff were enthralled with Proto's show of mechanical excellence, which meant combat training was done for now. With nothing better to do, Nestor moved to a spot next to Hiccup and waited for Proto to finish. He couldn't help but notice Hiccup's improved mood. Even with an irked dragon to soothe and the possibility that his false foot was about to be rendered useless, he was livelier than he'd been for days. He had approached these newest annoyances with his usual sardonic manner, as supposed to letting it all slide off him like it didn't matter.

Nestor should've felt happier for it, but he had a feeling that Hiccup had done exactly what he'd feared – he had latched onto the idea that Astrid had somehow escaped certain death. Maybe not consciously, maybe not deliberately, but a little ember of a false hope had found tinder within him, and there was a good chance it would grow bigger as time went on. A glimmer of false hope was easy to quell early on, but it would grow heartier and more difficult to vanquish if left unchecked.

Nestor sighed quietly. He really didn't want to be the bad guy here, but if Hiccup started acting irrationally because of this…

Thankfully for Nestor's piece of mind, another cranky dragon decided to make an appearance right then. With a quick bit of fluttering, the Terrible Terror named Adon flew into camp and lit upon a rock near Nestor, his half-sleeping gaze making him look remarkably cute. Then Adon stretched wearily and coughed a few times, making the cuteness factor fade away and punctuating the fact that Adon was far older than all of them combined (excluding Proto), and not far from the end of his days as a Hyperion.

"What's with the racket?" Adon's idea of a greeting, apparently. He looked right at Hiccup. "And why is the machine messing with your artificial foot, kid?"

"It broke and I'm out of spare everything," said Hiccup, not appreciating the question or Adon's demeanor. Hiccup was starting to think that becoming a Hyperion made one perpetually ill mannered, as he'd met three Hyperions so far and only one of them had the good graces to be polite.

Adon shook his head, clearly disapproving, and then switched his attention to Nestor. "And why aren't you guys up and flying yet? Don't we have places to be?"

"We were waiting for you, Adon," Nestor said politely. "I figured someone of your age needed your rest."

Adon's bulbous eyes rolled with irritation. "Of course. If it's not the short jokes, it's the age jokes. At least you haven't gotten to the 'Oh, isn't he precious' category of stupid humor. But in the future, you may wake me any time anything important needs to be done. I'm a Hyperion, not a hatchling."

"Duly noted." Nestor pointed to a leather bag they had purloined from the outpost they had raided yesterday. It was giving off a potent "fresh catch" smell. "We still have a few leftovers from today's breakfast."

Adon perked up at the prospect of food and hopped off his rock. The leather bag had been tied off to prevent intrusion from hungry dragons, but the tie proved inadequate against a hungry dragon with knowledge of basic knots. Adon easily undid the bag and poked his head inside, a large happy slurping sound following forthwith.

"And you're welcome," commented Hiccup dryly.

The sudden silence in the background meant that Proto was finished with Hiccup's false foot. As if to demonstrate that manners still existed in the world, Proto walked up to Hiccup and presented the metal appendage with its two tentacle-arms like a blacksmith might present a lovingly crafted sword.

_Repairs completed,_ Proto stated, _Human Hiccup should test appendage._

Hiccup took his leg back and carefully examined it. He was downright shocked at its quality – it didn't look fresh off the workbench, but it was close. Proto had welded and seared together the weakened and loose bits and reworked the springs that absorbed the shock of everyday walking and running. If there was a problem in the design, he couldn't see it.

He then fastened it to his stump and went for a quick stroll, amazed at how silent it was now. Not a single squeak from the hinges, something he'd never been able to completely weed out of the prosthetic until now. It certainly felt as sturdy as before. Toothless took interest in his rider's walking and removed his tail from his eyes so he could watch. The dragon was used to a squeaky foot announcing Hiccup's presence and seemed intrigued by the change.

_Is it acceptable, Human Hiccup?_ asked Proto, staring at Hiccup expectantly.

"Proto, you're a miracle worker," said Hiccup happily. "I might just get home with two feet under me after all."

_This unit does not understand terminology,_ said Proto.

"Acceptable, Proto," clarified Nestor with a grin. Ruff and Tuff nodded their approval as well.

"Remind me to get the machine to make me a leg when I eventually lose one in battle," said Ruffnut.

"Yeah, it's actually useful," said Tuffnut. "Not like this twerp eating all our leftover fish."

Either Tuffnut had assumed that the leather bag was somehow soundproof, or else his sense of survival was well and truly helpless when pitted against his stupidity, because that was possibly the dumbest thing he could've said at that moment. Adon's rustling came to an immediate halt. He extracted his head from the bag and looked straight at Tuffnut, the expression on his reptilian face resembling the patient-yet-irritated look an old man might wear while he looks down on a spider and debates whether to get his boots dirty by smashing it under heel or just flick him out the door.

Remarkably, Tuffnut had not picked up on this, but his sister had and she instinctively took a few steps away from her soon-to-be-hurting brother. Hiccup and Nestor watched with varying degrees of curiosity and alarm, not really believing that any actual harm would befall Tuffnut… but not able to rule it out entirely, either.

"Twerp?" said Adon. "You didn't just call me that, right? You meant that for your sister, perhaps?"

Tuffnut might have wizened up and not pushed the matter had Adon been any other species other than a Terror. But Tuffnut still carried the scar on his nose from his early dragon-training days when a normal Terrible Terror had singled him out and proven that even the smallest of dragons weren't to be trifled with. He had personally vowed to never let any dragon best him like that again, especially when he was seven times its size.

"I stand by what I say," he declared. "What can you do, exactly? I've listened to some of that Hyperion stuff Hiccup and Nestor go on and on about, right before I fall asleep. You guys get picked to carry awesome power, but I don't see anything awesome about you."

Adon did something very disconcerting – he smiled. "You know, I wanted a little workout today. Thanks for volunteering."

Tuffnut seemed confused at first, then got what Adon was on about. If he was at all concerned about why a little Terror would gladly fight him, he sure didn't show it. He confidently walked into the sparring circle and awaited Adon's next move. "I'm not afraid of a little action. Show me what you got."

"Ah, Adon, please don't do this," said Nestor, now officially worried about where this was going. "We do need him in one piece."

"Right," agreed Hiccup. "It takes two riders to control a Zippleback." A lame excuse, but it was the only one he could come up with that might justify Tuffnut's continued existence.

"No, we can make do with one," countered Ruffnut, smiling evilly. She never passed up on a chance for her brother to suffer a bit.

Adon ignored the chatter and pleas, padding up to the sparring circle and taking a position on the opposite side of Tuffnut. On the face of things, human teenager and a squirt-of-a-dragon squaring off like a pair of boxers made for a funny picture. But the only one finding any amusement in this was Tuffnut's sister, though even she started having seconds thoughts after seeing the grim look on the Terror's face and the concern on Nestor's. Proto kept his sensor-head trained on the proceedings, never looking away and never blinking. Toothless sensed the anxiety from the others and tensed his back in expectation of leaping into the fray if things got out of control. He didn't have much love of Tuffnut (there wasn't anyone alive who did), but he was part of Hiccup's team, and that made Toothless protective.

"So what are the rules?" asked Tuffnut. "First one to eat dirt?"

"Lets go with Praxius Rules, circa 432 Year of Renewal," said Adon.

While blank looks were common on Tuffnut, this particular look was especially blank. "I have no idea…"

"It involves this," said Adon, and he swished his tail Tuffnut's direction. Corresponding, Ruffnut's horned helmet leapt off his head and spun off to the ground. The move had been so quick, the result so immediate, that Tuffnut merely stood there, gaping. The others gaped as well (except for Proto, who had no capacity for gaping).

"How did you do that?" said Tuffnut.

"Another example? Very well." Adon grinned as he swiped his tail a different direction. Tuffnut felt something hit the back of his left knee, hard enough to make it buckle. He plopped to the dirt with a yelp.

"What are you doing?" said Tuffnut as he got back to his feet. "You're not supposed to be using deviltry on me."

"Deviltry, is it?" said Adon, unamused by Ruffnut's choice of words. "A power you don't understand and you chalk it up to 'deviltry.' I think you need more enlightening."

Nestor groaned and looked at Hiccup. "Is Tuffnut _always_ this stupid?"

"Is it a day of the week that ends in a 'y'?" replied Hiccup.

Tuffnut tried out his best warrior stance, which was mostly him growling at Adon with his teeth gritted, and then rushed the miniscule dragon. He got two steps and then reeled backward when Adon swiped his front-right foot and something took the lad in the stomach. Tuffnut held his stomach like he'd just been gut-punched.

"You wish to yield?" said Adon.

"Yeah, maybe I better AHHHHH!" Tuffnut used his brilliant move of feigning surrender and then rushing the little dragon, trying to grapple the dragon and pin him between his arms. Adon jumped into the air, using his wings for a quick liftoff, and darted right over the charging Viking's head. He swept his tail once more and a burst of orange-laced force whipped out, taking Tuffnut's legs out from under him and plopping the boy in the dirt again, face-first.

Tuffnut rolled to his back and spit out a mouthful of dirt. It finally dawned on him that maybe this hadn't been a good idea after all. Pride, however, required that he saw this through to the end, even if the end required him convalescing in bed for a few days.

Proto casually plodded over to Tuffnut while he was getting up and extended a tentacle arm to him, offering Tuffnut the helmet that had flown from his person. _Human Ruffnut requires protection_, Proto stated.

Tuffnut gruffly grabbed his helmet and placed it back on his head. "I don't yield. I'm just starting to figure you out, Adon, and now BLARG!"

Another whiff of orangey energy took him in the stomach as Adon landed, swiping both forelegs in the air simultaneously. Tuffnut staggered, clutching his gut and desperately trying to avoid peeing his pants.

Adon sighed and shook his head, his patience wearing thin. "Now do you understand why they picked me, chowder-head?"

"Not… done… yet…" wheezed Tuffnut. "Winning… somehow."

"I know humans are stubborn creatures, but you seem to have an overabundance of the quality," said Adon. "I'm barely even using my power here."

"Perhaps you need a fairer fight." Nestor had gotten off his rock and had stepped into the sparring circle, a step away from moving between Tuffnut and Adon but not there yet. "I think Tuffnut's had enough, don't you?"

Adon looked at Nestor as if he'd interrupted his fun. "What, you're stepping in to defend _this_ guy?"

"Actually, I want to know how you're doing it," said Nestor. He motioned at Ruffnut to come retrieve her brother, who stood wobbly while clutching his stomach. Ruffnut came in and not-so-gently pulled him away from the circle by the hand, Tuffnut muttering about how the gods must like him in a constant state of pain. Hiccup was relieved to see Tuffnut out of the fray, though he wondered what Nestor was up to.

"How are you projecting your barrier field like that?" Nestor asked. "I've never seen anyone do… whatever you were doing."

_Telekinetic field displacement,_ commented Proto from off to the side.

"Uh… what he said," Nestor added.

Adon gave him a curious look. "It's another Hyperion skill, though the others don't use it much because they have other natural powers they can use. As you can tell, I'm not exactly brimming with physical strength, and my flame breath is pretty pathetic. So I use… whatever your machine called it. Arc never taught you?"

Nestor gave him back the same look. "I didn't even know Hyperions could do it. Arc can't exactly show off his barrier field powers these days."

Adon nodded. "I suppose you two have had other matters to deal with. I take it you want a lesson in field projecting?"

Nestor brightened at the idea. "So you think I can do it as well?"

"I don't know why you couldn't. You learned how to Shroud, right?"

Nestor's body immediately turned into a heat mirage, barely visible save for a shimmering human form. Adon waved him to reappear, and he returned to full visibility. "Don't show off to me, kid. Shrouding is second nature to a Hyperion. But if you can Shroud then it shouldn't be too hard to learn the basics."

Adon then looked to the horizon, which the sun had crept past and was now a fully realized circle of light. "We should get a move on, though, don't you think?"

Just like that, the morning's bit of fun was over. Nestor had not been fibbing about the group waiting for the little Hyperion to awaken, since sleeping dragons were never good company after a rude awakening. Adon's words reminded them that, for all the casualness of the morning's activities (including Tuffnut's humiliating sparring contest with Adon), they had plenty of serious matters to get to. People to find, threats to thwart, and distance to travel.

The group went into motion, Hiccup moving to Toothless (who had forgiven Hiccup enough to let him mount without issue), Ruffnut escorting a still-pained Tuffnut to Barf-Belch (the dragon having taken a nap while Tuffnut was getting the snot beaten out of him - a loyal steed the dragon was not) and Proto lowering his torso so that Nestor could step up without difficulty.

They grabbed their gear, already packed up for travel before the daily exercises had begun, and then they were off again, following the coastline, Adon tagging along on Proto despite his vocalized misgivings about riding on flying Guardians. It might have had something to do with the fact that Proto was willing to put up with Adon riding along while Toothless and Barf-Belch growled out warnings to the little Hyperion, declaring that they only allowed human riders on their backs.

Beggars couldn't be choosers if they didn't want to be left in the dust, so Adon clung unhappily to Proto's back as they floated into the sky, remarking that the machine better not try to fix any of _his_ legs without asking.

* * *

Hiccup used to find long-distance traveling enjoyable, mostly because it gave him time to come up with new ideas and new plans, be it as simple as a way to use Gronckles to chew up rocks for use in construction without them swallowing the rocks entirely, or as nerve-racking as rehearsing how he was going to ask his father about the proper way to woo Viking women (a conversation he never got around to, incidentally). Even when he didn't have important matters to mull over, he enjoyed the alone-time he had with Toothless as the breeze blew against him and the clouds parted before him, the dragon setting a point for the horizon and going as far as the day could take them.

These days? All it did was give him too much time to mull over things he'd rather keep un-mulled.

The cruel landscape of the desert didn't help matters. It extended its barren nature to the coast, with barely any vegetation save for hearty specimens that were prickly and sharp to touch. With nothing to gaze at, the scenery blurred into an endless parade of plain terrain that sparked little interest in the inquisitive young Viking.

After their morning workout, the team had put in several hours of hard flying with Toothless in the lead, flanked by Proto and Barf-Belch. They kept a loose V-formation as they headed toward the eventual point where they would have to cross the Mediterranean Sea to reach Riki Poka and hopefully reunite with their lost companions, or at least pick up some leads as to where they were. Going by Lothar's extensive geographical knowledge, there was an archipelago called the Balearic Islands that would give them access to rest stops and supplies, so they didn't have to straight-shot it over the water. Whether or not the residents of those islands would tolerate dragon-visitors was another story. The Hyperions didn't have problems because they were Shrouded the whole time, something Hiccup and his group couldn't do.

Hiccup wasn't concerned. They'd do what they'd been doing all these long weeks, keeping to the outskirts of civilization and out of trouble. Though with Ruff and Tuff around, they might prove more difficult. The two of them were like a pair of moths that were not only attracted to open flames, but actually enjoyed being on fire.

It was weird having the two of them back in his life, but a pleasant kind of weird. It was like a little bit of home had come and found him out in the world. He just hoped the Twins now understood how serious things were. They fell back into old, self-abusive habits way too easily, and such tendencies could get them killed out here. At least Ruffnut showed signs of adapting, but that might have something to do with her lingering infatuation with Nestor. Still, whatever worked.

"Was I smart to let the Twins come with us, Toothless?" Hiccup mused, doing his usual I'm-talking-to-my-dragon-but-really-to-myself routine. Toothless's ears twitched his way, ever the attentive listener.

"After what happened with…" He stopped short of saying Astrid's name. The scab was just barely staying put on his wounded heart, and it could come off with a simple careless word. "Well, after what happened, I should've sent them home with Snotlout and Fishlegs."

Much to Hiccup's surprise, Toothless looked back contrarily at Hiccup out of the corner of his eye, as if disagreeing. Hiccup hadn't thought the dragon had been paying attention. Half the time Toothless just flew and listened politely to Hiccup's ramblings.

"You think I made the right choice?" said Hiccup. Toothless did a head-waggle, his version of _yes_. "And here I thought you didn't care for the Twins."

Toothless looked forward once more and didn't respond. Hiccup had a feeling that his dragon friend was thinking about Hiccup's well being rather than the Twins' safety. Toothless knew that Hiccup was still hurting over losing Astrid, had watched over Hiccup during those first terrible days when all Hiccup wanted to do was curl up into a ball and let the gods smite him dead. Having the Twins around gave Hiccup more human companionship, more friends to keep him steady through these trying times, and a pair of troublemakers to keep an eye on. Perhaps he was giving Toothless too much credit, since dragons weren't known for being experts at curing pains of the heart, but Toothless had shown a fair amount of scarily accurate insight over the years. The one time Toothless had spent several days out in the wilderness finding Hiccup's lost Viking helmet, a sentimental piece that Hiccup's father had crafted from his wife's old plate armor, came to mind readily.

Still, Hiccup hadn't felt all that alone, not with Toothless always at his side and with Nestor taking charge of things for now. Without Arc around to lead the team, leadership duties had largely fallen on Nestor, something that he didn't seem to enjoy. Nestor chose the campsites, arranged sentry duties, kept Ruff and Tuff from falling off cliffs in the middle of the night, answered the bazillions of questions coming from Proto, dealt with Lothar's Hyperion business (and now dealt with Adon, who made Arc look personable by comparison), and tried to emulate Arc's serious disposition as best he could (and mostly looking like he had constipation issues). It had to be exhausting, and Hiccup caught Nestor looking at him as if pleading for Hiccup to take over for a day or two.

If Nestor asked him, Hiccup would, but Nestor never did. Nestor knew Hiccup wasn't ready to get back in the saddle, so to speak. He hadn't said as much, but Hiccup's gut told him that Nestor was giving Hiccup all the time he could for that one reason. Hiccup appreciated the gesture, though sometimes he felt like there was no amount of time in all of creation that would make him _want _to lead a dragon squad into battle again. Out of necessity, to defend his village, he would do so, but there was no more fun to be had in leading people to their potential demise.

He didn't know if Astrid would approve of his feelings or not, but he didn't care. She had the warrior's heart, not him. In the past, he had thought about letting Astrid take lead on the Dragon Squad so he could concentrate on inventions and dragon training and other non-violent hobbies. She'd do as good a job as him, maybe better. If not for the Gunnarr threat and Cervantes and the end of the world popping up, he might have gone ahead and given her the job by now.

He sighed heavily, feeling that old familiar sorrow begin to creep in. Maybe one day he'd get through a day without thinking of Astrid and immediately feeling his heart crack open again. But that day was a long ways off… if it ever came at all.

Oh, he wanted to believe she was still alive. He desperately wanted that. Maybe part of him _did_ believe it, clinging to the crazy ideas from his discussion with Nestor the previous evening. That was probably why he'd woken up this morning feeling more at ease than he had since arriving in the Desolation. He was still hoping for a miracle, even if the price of that miracle included the return of their most dangerous adversary.

But his good mood had faded with the morning sun. Old memories of his dad's stern lectures about dealing with death had set in, as had Nestor's warning about false hope. Astrid wasn't coming back, and no amount of wishing would make it so.

"I have to hope that I'll wake up one day… and it will be okay," Hiccup said aloud, softly so as to not bother Toothless.

The dragon's ears did perk up anyway… but then proceeded to twinge a bit, like something was bugging them and he was trying to shake it off. Hiccup thought the culprit might be a bug (you met a lot of flying insects in the air, mostly in splat-on-your-face encounters), but soon Toothless began waggling his head and looking around in distressed confusion, as if in search of the source of his discomfort. At least he was keeping their flight steady.

"What is it, buddy?" he asked, getting only an uncertain growl for an answer. He felt nothing and heard nothing, but then a dragon's ears were far more fine-tuned that a human's. Hiccup looked over Barf-Belch's direction and saw the dragon's twin heads shaking and waggling like Toothless. The Twins were flummoxed by the behavior, and this had naturally caused an argument to spawn between them. Thankfully, Hiccup couldn't hear them at this distance.

A discordant blast of garbled noise hit Hiccup from the opposite wing, filling the air with an angry chorus of human voices that sounded like they were speaking through funnels in their mouths. Toothless recoiled away from Proto, growling unhappily, as Hiccup strained to identify what the noise was. Nestor was no help on this matter, as he was too busy holding his ears shut and shouting at Proto, his voice drowned out by the cacophonous garble. Adon had his paws on his head and was squeezing his eyes shut, as if that might help suppress the crazy audible assault.

"NESTOR?" Hiccup yelled in vain, moving Toothless farther away while waving at the Twins to do the same. Loud noise was not a dragon's ally. In the past, the Vikings of Berk had used sharp, harsh noise to befuddle and distract dragons in close combat. Keen hearing was a double-edged sword at times. Hiccup figured that Toothless and Barf-Belch had picked up on the oncoming noise avalanche before their human riders had. But what exactly was all this noise about? It seemed to be coming directly from Proto.

After a long agonizing minute of keeping the dragons calm and flying straight, the noise level dissipated to a pair of voices – Nestor's and an unknown voice emanating from Proto. Nestor lowered his hands as he talked to Proto, and Adon appeared immensely relieved by the noise reduction. Toothless's ears stopped their twitching, the dragon noticeably calmer. The Twins and their dragon were looking at him questioningly, expecting him to come up with the explanation, as always. Wanting answers himself, Hiccup flew Toothless within speaking distance of Nestor and asked the obvious question.

"Proto finished analyzing the conduit artifact," yelled Nestor over the wind and the one continuing voice. "He's tapped into the conduit network the Alchemist's forces used. He was relaying the messages as he heard them… all of them, simultaneously. I asked Proto to shut all but this one down. It's the clearest signal and I can understand it the best."

"Brilliant machine you have here," said Adon, heavy on the sarcasm.

"Yes, it is," defended Nestor. "I dare you to do what Proto just did." Adon was taken aback by the comment, but he merely chose to shake his head and grumble to himself.

The conduit artifact had slipped past Hiccup's mind, what with other issues to deal with, but now he was intrigued. "So Proto can listen in on what they're saying?"

"Well, _thinking,_" corrected Nestor, "but yes. He's still working on tracking them back to their source."

"This one keeps repeating itself," said Adon, referring to the female-sounding voice speaking in the background. Hiccup thought it sounded Old-Frankish, Nestor's native tongue. "I'm a bit rusty on Old Frank, but I'm pretty sure this speaker is saying the same thing over and over, same tone and emphasis each time."

"Must be on some kind of mystical loop," said Hiccup, "if that's a thing that can happen." He looked at Adon. "Can that happen?"

"I don't know," Adon, the little dragon shrugging. "I'm no expert on True Alchemy. Whatever the case may be, it must be important."

Nestor made an impatient face as he turned to Hiccup. "That's what I'm trying to figure out here, if you two would be quiet for a moment." Then he cocked his ear back to listening, Hiccup and Adon buttoning their mouths as directed.

Soon Nestor was rattling off details as he understood them, his brow furrowed as he concentrated on relaying information while listening to the message. "I think it's a general alert from the Alchemist's base. Something about a surprise attack and everyone should be reporting to their duties or heading for designated shelters… not sure what's attacking them, but it sounds major. There's a distress call in there, asking for all ships to return to base to render assistance."

Hiccup had a feeling he knew what was attacking. Whoever had taken over the _Zenith_ had finally shown up. Then again, maybe another Red Death-class dragon had come to make a nest out the Alchemist's base, or maybe Thor was making a house call. At this stage, it was all guesswork.

Nestor was about to relay more info when his eyes widened and he gave Hiccup a look that was one-hundred percent pure shock. Hiccup thought Nestor's eyes might pop out of their socket, and it took all the restraint he had in him to not immediately demand that Nestor speak.

"_Salo krebit_," Nestor exclaimed. "I mean… I didn't think…"

"What?" Hiccup demanded, feeling his heart rev up in anticipation. Adon glared at Nestor expectantly as well.

Nestor cleared his throat and swallowed hard, praying to the Fates that he had the meaning of the message correct. "Near the end of the message, there's a general warning of an escaped prisoner. The name's not given, but it says that she… it's definitely a _she_… is armed with a myssteel weapon and is considered dangerous. There's also a very general description – young, blond… and of Norse descent."


	8. A Dose Of Reality

**Chapter Seven: A Dose Of Reality**

Before Hiccup and Nestor were privy to a very startling message about a very startling chain of events, a great deal had already transpired in the wee hours of that morning, and much more was about to transpire afterwards. It would become quite the chaotic affair, with no less than four separate plans of action fated to collide with each other (five, if you counted Sheen's slapdash idea of revenge as a plan).

There is an old Hyperion saying that goes something like this: plans are like the dreams of a sleeping mind, because they never survive a dose of reality. This day proved it beyond the shadow of a doubt.

* * *

The guard to the main armory was about as intimidating as a penguin with a head cold. Heather didn't know the chubby fellow's name, but she almost felt sorry for him as she approached. He had a handkerchief out and he was using it frequently, his sneezes resounding through the hallway.

"Care for a drink?" she offered, holding up a wooden tray with a pair of steaming mugs on top. "I'm making the rounds to all the guards that are staying put, like me."

Chubby Guard may have looked like he needed a few days of bed rest, but that didn't stop him from giving Heather the scrutiny-eye. "Who put you up to this? Was in Patterson? Tell him I'm winning this bet even if my lungs start coming out of my throat."

Having no idea who Patterson was or what this bet was all about, Heather merely smiled politely and said, "This is my idea, not Patterson's."

"I can barely swallow," croaked Chubby Guard. "Come back later."

"All right," she replied, playing it cool while thinking fast. She needed Chubby Guard to change his mind right now if this was going to work, as the armory was inconveniently on the other side of the base from Astrid's prison cell. She only had this one opportunity before the rest of her admittedly-rushed-and-risky plan got under way.

"Although," she said coyly, "I've heard that hot liquids are good for sore throats. Something about the steam clearing out all that mucous."

Chubby Guard perked up at the notion of getting relief from his sinus troubles. "Really?"

"It's cider, too," she added. "Hot apple cider. Nature's goodness in liquid form. Might boost your body's ability to fight disease."

She thought she might have oversold it a tad, but her argument worked its charm. Chubby Guard took the mug closest to him, sniffed it, and then took a sip. Nodding appreciatively at Heather, he took a big gulp from the mug, savoring it.

"Nice," he said. "Funny aftertaste, though. Were the apples rotten?"

"A little," said Heather. "It's hard to get fresh fruit around here, you know."

"It's hard to get _anything_ around these parts," said the guard. "I've been dying to get a good halibut filet for the last year. I thought someone like the Alchemist would have some good eats to go with her fancy stones."

"I know, right?" There was a pair of vacant chairs near the guard and Heather stooped to place her tray upon the nearest one so her hands would be free. "What's the point in having all this power if you have to eat like paupers?"

Chubby Guard nodded. Heather was singing his tune for sure. "I'm not greedy or anything, but she could stand to expand the kitchen's menu. I keep offering my chowder recipes to the cook and he looks at me like I have leprosy. They really shouldn't leave the cooking to the guy who obviously hates to cook. But then they never ask for my opinion on anything and… are the glow-stones dimming? They look like they're… dimming… chowder…"

Heather's hands darted behind the collapsing guard to soften his fall, more for the noise than the guard's health. The mug almost spilled its contents onto the man's uniform, but Heather caught the mug before it could tip over. It took a few more precious seconds to rearrange the guard on the second chair next to the armory door, making it look like the man had nodded off while on duty. She then placed her other mug on the ground next to the guard, the one that was half-full of non-tainted cider. Hopefully Chubby Guard (or anyone who came across him) would think his slumbering was due to his illness or laziness and not immediately question the drink.

She took the guard's set of keys and unlocked the armory door, working as fast and as quietly as possible. She wasn't afraid that Chubby Guard would be waking soon – the tranquilizing draught she had laced his cider with was a strong medication used in the infirmary and would keep him out for a good hour – but someone else could easily come by. An unlikely prospect, considering the rest of the base was preparing for the armada's launch, but Heather wanted to keep her exposure to bad luck to a minimum.

The room beyond the door was packed with racks and shelves brimming with every make and model of sharp object known to humanity. Whether you favored your weapons as short and pointy, long and speary, or blunt and spiky, the Alchemist had something for you. There were rows of bows and crossbows next to stacks of bolts and barrels of arrows. It could easily outfit a hundred soldiers, and this was just the base's primary armory. From what Heather had learned, each ship in the fleet had its own separate armory for their crew. This place was designed for the possibility that the illusion-field might one day get breached and all the support staff and bored guards would finally have an exciting day, even if it ended up being their last day on Earth.

Heather moved through the room, careful to not disturb the weapon displays, some of which were precariously arranged so that one good mishap might topple several racks in comedic fashion. No one had bothered to organize the place in some time, an indication of how little fear the staff felt at the prospect of Sanctuary getting attacked. Most of the weapons were pretty low-grade as well, dinged and rusty in spots and dull on the edges. Any Viking clan that kept its weapon stockpile in such a shoddy state would have been exiled to Outcast Island just on general principle alone.

It was the chest in the back that attracted Heather's attention. More of a steel trunk than a keepsake box, it had three heavy locks on it. Two of them she could open with the keys she had taken from Chubby Guard. The central lock was could only be opened by a key in the Alchemist's possession. A mystical key that nobody could duplicate or steal, if the rumors were true. Those rumors, plus the Alchemist's reputation involving punishing thieves, kept people from trying what Heather was about to do.

From a pocket in her uniform, she extracted a long, thin lockpick with an end that resembled a little kid's two front teeth. From her hair, she pulled a metal hairpin. She crouched down before the hefty lock and inserted lockpick and pin into the hole, gently manipulating the tiny gears within and listening for the special _click _that represented success.

This was the part she was less than confident about. Having been stuck with a bunch of criminal types for the last six months, she'd had time to learn a few tricks about picking locks during her oh-so-stimulating days guarding stuff. Her mother would not approve (_only pirates and Outcasts learn such things_, she'd be saying right about now), but Heather figured that any escape plan might require getting past a door she had no key to. So she brought a lock to her guard post and proceed to pick it mercilessly. She hid her hobby from her superiors, who would rightly suspect she was up to no good. While she was no expert, your average lock couldn't defend itself from her tools.

But she was still taking a big gamble here, because she was assuming a lot about the Alchemist. The Alchemist didn't seem to care that much about myssteel weapons other than when she gave them out to her trusted minions. Myssteel, that strange and powerful metal that everyone salivated over, really wasn't the Alchemist's area of expertise. She put greater effort into securing her collection of gems and special stones than in keeping tabs on her myssteel weapons. She didn't even care if they got lost in battle – if a minion lost one, oh well. Even though careless minions didn't get replacement weapons, it was clear she carried an attitude of indifference concerning her myssteel stockpile. She kept most of the weapons on her flagship, the _Zenith_. Not the smartest thing to do since it would only take one good storm to send all those weapons to the ocean floor, but she didn't even seem upset at the fact that her stockpile was in the hands of Cervantes, someone who could use them to his great advantage.

What did all this mean? For Heather, it was a singular hope: that the lock she was picking was just an ordinary lock put together for the appearance of security. The Alchemist was doing what she always did – letting fear do the work for her. If it was an ordinary lock, Heather would be leaving with an important memento for Astrid. If it wasn't…

_Click!_

Heather's smile was mostly relief-based. The click was a good click.

She removed the lock and then used the guard's keys to open the other two locks. Two clicks later, she was lifting the trunk door wide and marveling at the solitary weapon resting within. It seemed lonely in there, the only occupant of the trunk, with all its fellow weapons out and about. Heather was glad the Alchemist hadn't reassigned the weapon to anyone else. Too busy with other preparations, like leading an armada against the man who stole her favorite toy and left her for dead.

A twinge of curiosity overcame her good judgment. She wanted to see what all the fuss was about, why Astrid wanted it back so badly. Heather picked up the double-bladed axe and secured the trunk with all three locks back in place. She then plucked off the leather sheath covering the axe head and studied the weapon at length, turning it and twirling it at times to get the feel of it. Weighted almost nothing and felt like a kid's toy in her hands. She wanted to test it out on one of the myriad weapons in the room, see if it really could cleave iron like it was wax, but that would defeat the purpose of all her skullduggery.

It wasn't all that well made, at least in the looks department. The axe heads weren't entirely uniform and the shaft was ordinary treated wood. But Heather saw the care that had gone into making it balanced and useable, sturdy and sharp. This wasn't a piece of ornamentation you hung on your wall. This was a weapon designed to protect the one you loved.

Heather replaced the sheath and slung the axe on her back. If she had any doubts about Hiccup and Astrid before, those doubts were now quite stomped on and lifeless. She understood why Astrid didn't want to leave without it. Not because of what it could do… but because of what it meant to her.

Well, sentimentality was one thing, but it couldn't hurt to have a myssteel weapon on hand if things went sour.

Heather left the armory and locked it back up, placing the keys on the sleeping guard as she went. She obviously couldn't walk around with a myssteel axe in her possession, and she couldn't give it to Astrid until the Alchemist and her armada was gone, but she knew a good hiding spot for the axe to occupy until the time for escaping was nigh.

Now she had to get back to her guard post next to Astrid's cell and hope that any surprises coming her way were few, far-between, and harmless. Or else she would be sharing a cell with Astrid before the day was over… and probably not for very long.

The Alchemist didn't suffer thieves… or traitors.

* * *

For the first time in a long while, the Alchemist felt nervous.

Standing on the dock adjacent to the _Monarch_, one of the seven warships currently preparing for launch, the Alchemist felt a nervous tickle in her stomach. If she was a less honest person, she might have blamed it on the ambiance of the morning, the docks bathed in eerie blue luminance from a series of hanging glow-stones. The faintest smidgen of light had crept into the sky, and most of that was hidden under long streaks of puffy water vapor, so it felt like they were working in the dead of night. Her soldiers and crewmen filed around her, securing weapons and equipment and checking every stone and rigging for final defects or damage. Most of them worked in silence, never daring to voice their own fears about the battle to come, and the silence only added to the fog of anxious foreboding surrounding them all.

That wasn't it, though. She was a lady of science. She didn't court superstition or even the notion of destiny. This was something more primal and more disconcerting.

Concern for Norom, perhaps. She had pushed all thought of him aside until now because, in truth, it was too painful to think on him. Norom, brave and true Norom, was most likely dead. She had no way to tell for sure, but she assumed as much, as Norom would sooner die than betray her, and Cervantes would sooner eliminate a powerful enemy than keep him around for creative cruelties.

It might be Qiao. Never before had the Alchemist lost track of her adopted daughter. Even when she went abroad, attempting to live like a normal human, the Alchemist had kept tabs on her through Dark Star and a couple of special devices designed to detect and track Ancestors, holdovers from that ugly time period when Artisan and Ancestor did their level best to destroy each other. The Alchemist sighed in frustration – history repeating itself, as usual. Qiao must be thoroughly confused by her "mother's" actions, if not outright hating her right now. Artisan and Ancestor, at each other's throats once again.

When the fires of the battles to come had cooled and her plans had progressed too far for anyone to thwart, she would divert effort to finding Qiao and mending fences. If that proved impossible, then at least Qiao would have a better world to live in, and if the price of that better world included Qiao's hatred… so be it.

She glanced at her most loyal of lieutenants, Kong, who stood off to the side like the omnipresent sentinel he was, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes darting around, scanning for threats. In the two long years she'd known the man, Kong had never shown fear… or any other emotion. She knew he felt them – he was no automaton, no mindless Guardian – but he hid them so deeply that the Alchemist suspected his face had lost the ability to frown or smile.

He was the only lieutenant present. Sheen was conspicuously absent.

Kong saw his master (his word, not hers) and he straightened up under her gaze. "Alchemist?"

"You happen to know what happened to Sheen?" she asked. "Last I checked she loves this kind of thing – large-scale violence and all."

"She told me that she intends to double-check the security of the prisoner before she leaves."

That made the Alchemist scowl. "That is Heather's job, and I expressly told her to keep her distance."

Kong nodded impassively. "I said as much, and my lady assured me that she would not lay a finger on the one called Astrid. I take her word as the truth."

The Alchemist wasn't so convinced. Sheen was essentially psychotic, useful for cracking heads when the moment called for head cracking, but also desiring conflict where none existed. For some reason, she had an escalating grudge with the prisoner, frequently pointing out how much of a liability the blond-haired girl could be if she got free. This was not a possibility unknown to the Alchemist and the frequent reminders were wearing on her temper.

"Sheen is aware that we leave in twenty minutes, correct?" she asked. "Anyone tardy is left behind."

"She is aware," said Kong.

The Alchemist thought for a while on her prisoner, the one who had inadvertently saved her plans from a premature conclusion. Astrid had behaved like a model prisoner, which might have been a good thing if the Alchemist was running a penal colony but it made her suspicious instead. Astrid didn't strike her as the passive type. Viking females rarely were. The good behavior was a ruse, no doubt, though to what end the Alchemist couldn't say.

It was possible she was plotting an escape; in fact, the Alchemist would've bet all her precious gems on it. But she hadn't worried about it because, honestly, any escape plan was doomed to failure from the get-go. This was an island and Astrid had no means of leaving it unless it was through the Alchemist. And without her pretty myssteel axe, she was completely outnumbered and outmatched. Once the fleet was ready to leave for Riki Poka, Astrid's ability to do any damage to her plans would shrink to just shy of inconsequential. The Alchemist thought she'd drop Astrid off on a deserted island after that – let the young Viking fend for herself. A better fate than your average POW received.

Sheen was always arguing against sentimentality. _No such thing as a nice tyrant,_ she liked to say. Maybe she was right. Alive, Astrid remained a liability. But life without some semblance of honor made you only slightly better than the microbes that crawled on your skin. Astrid deserved her life… for now. If she gave the Alchemist a reason to reconsider, any reason at all, Astrid's life would immediately become undeserving.

One of her armband gems became to pulse a nice soft red, an indication that Dark Star was returning. Dark Star had been sent out on recon, cloaked and circling the fast-moving fog bank coming this way. She was a little disappointed in Cervantes. He wasn't even trying to be subtle, opting for a frontal assault that surely couldn't succeed. He surely couldn't think the _Zenith's_ mist generator would hide his approach, but that seemed to be the strategy he was employing.

As she turned to watch Dark Star fly in past the illusion-shield, she finally put a finger on the source of the disconcerting nervous twinge in her gut. Not remembrances or remorse – it was simple anxiety. For once, she didn't have things under complete control. Cervantes had pulled the rug out from under her, as had the Dragon Rider, the Hyperion, the Outlander, the Seer, Astrid (who really needed a title of some sort, considering the company she kept) and even dear Qiao, whose Ancestor instincts had proven more troublesome than anticipated. True, they had ultimately failed, all of them, and some of them were undoubtedly dead as a result of their interference, lost in the fall of the Repository. But the _Zenith_ was in enemy hands, Norom was mostly likely dead, and Qiao was in the wind. And while today's battle would certainly end in the Alchemist's favor, Cervantes could still inflict a lot of damage before he went down.

She wasn't used to… uncertainty, and it sat in her gut like a lead brick. She hadn't felt this way since she was a young student learning the ins and outs of dimensional theory. She hadn't liked it then, either.

But as Dark Star came in for a landing, sending a few soldiers scurrying away in fear as she touched down, the Alchemist felt the icky feeling lessen a tad. Dark Star nuzzled her hand and she scratched the "real" side of her face, and she felt reassured once again. Yes, things had not gone as planned, but she still had all the power and loyalty she needed. A good leader knows how to recover from failure, and that was exactly what she was doing.

She and Dark Star were destined to meet Cervantes this day, and she would make sure that it was a meeting he didn't survive.

* * *

From the safety of a nest of boulders some distance above the base, a quartet of onlookers watched the preparations with unease. The darkness kept them well covered from the base below, though the dragon member of the group remained Shrouded just the same.

Qiao felt this made conversation more difficult, talking to an eyestrain-inducing distortion, but she couldn't fault Arc for being cautious, not when they were this close to Alche's base.

"They will soon be ready to leave," said Linebreaker. "Must be a grand party they're going to."

"They're after Cervantes," said Arc, speaking through his Shroud. "Either that, or they're invading a small kingdom. But I would bet all my scales on Cervantes."

"Does it matter?" said Qiao. "I think we have a golden opportunity here that people are overlooking. The base is emptying out."

"I noticed that as well," said Saga, "though I doubt the Alchemist will leave her base entirely undefended."

"No kidding," replied Qiao. "But there are answers down there, maybe even some things to steal and sabotage to perform. I mean, we can handle a few dozen leftover troops, right?"

"Indeed, we can," said Arc. "But there is another consideration. We will need to know where the Alchemist is going, as well as the outcome of her operation. That will require someone who can keep up with those ships, as well as remain hidden."

"I take it you're volunteering for that honor?" questioned Qiao. "We could use you here, you know."

Arc's distortion did a headshake. "Even Shrouded, my size and stature would make me more of a hindrance than a help. My place is in the air."

"Agreed, then," said Saga. "Qiao and I will slip in while Arc monitors the Alchemist. But we must all meet back at Linebreaker's ship by dawn of the next day, regardless of what we find."

Linebreaker crinkled his nose. "Not that I enjoy tempting fate unless it involves sequins or tidal waves, but it seems like I'm the odd man out."

Saga gave him a blank look, as if not understanding the issue. "Qiao and I have experience with infiltration. I did not think a smuggler knew of breaking and entering."

Linebreaker laughed softly yet confidently. "My lady, I have infiltrated more uninvited parties in Riki Poka than you've have dreadful visions. Besides, it beats waiting around this dreary caldera all day."

Saga looked skeptical, but Qiao quickly patted Linebreaker's shoulder and said, "Of course you're coming with us, no question. Saga was just being overprotective…right?" Qiao glanced at Saga, as if daring her to argue about it some more. Not in the mood for an argument, Saga shrugged and turned to watch the base some more. She had far more important things to concentrate on.

"So it's settled," said Arc. "We wait for the fleet to leave, and then we proceed." He gave Qiao a hard look, which was blunted by the fact that she couldn't see his eyeballs though the Shroud. "I expect you to act cautiously, Young Qiao."

Qiao feigned being insulted. "Me? I'm the living avatar of caution. They won't know I was even there." She gestured casually at the Seer. "Saga, on the other hand, is probably going to burn down the base."

"We will see," commented Saga. It was hard to tell if she was serious or not.

"Anyone else wonder how those ships are actually leaving the base?" asked Linebreaker, looking down at the dockyard as the ant-sized soldiers began to file into the ships below.

The others didn't respond, though the same question occupied their thoughts as well. They would be seeing the answer in action very shortly, and it wouldn't be an answer they liked at all.

* * *

Astrid couldn't remember getting any sleep during the night, and now that she could hear the bangs and thumps and distant voices coming from her window there was no chance she'd be getting any last-minute napping in before the day officially began. This was not something new to her – she often got anxious before something exciting or dangerous was set to begin the next day, and sleep was the frequent casualty of such anxiety – but she had to restrain herself from pacing or doing more sit-ups to burn off the emotion. If anyone other than Heather came a-calling, they'd be curious as to why a prisoner with nowhere to go and nothing to do was so agitated.

It did make the hours go by at the rate of a turtle running a marathon, and between efforts to count sheep being chased by Nightmares and Zipplebacks she would think about Hiccup and Toothless and Saga and Nestor and everyone else, sometimes even venturing into home territory with her parents and Fishlegs and the Twins and even Snotlout. It was hard not to feel utterly alone in all this, and if not for Heather she'd really be utterly alone.

With barely any light coming through the window, she had a hard time guessing the time. Early morning for certain, which meant the Alchemist's forces should be leaving at any time. Heather said she would switch guard positions with Olaf before dawn, and then it'd be a couple of hours before she unlocked the cell and they made their way to the Hunter landing zone. They'd hijack a platform and escape while the armada was otherwise engaged. It was a plan with too many holes in it (the biggest hole concerning Heather's inexperience with flying platforms), but the opportunity wouldn't get any more prime than having ninety-five percent of the base emptied out.

As to where they'd go once they cleared the island, Heather suggested they go northeast. Sanctuary Island had to be somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea, that much she was certain of, and all they needed to do was hit continental Europe and they'd be free and clear. Astrid had suggested Riki Poka as a place to hole up while they chased down leads on Hiccup and everyone else, and Heather agreed. Heather's ultimate goal was to get back to her home village, but she promised she wouldn't set off until she reunited Astrid with Hiccup and helped them stop the Alchemist. A loyal friend, Heather, once you got past how good a liar and a sneak she could be.

Caught up in her contemplations, she didn't hear the approaching footsteps until they were almost at her cell door. She closed her eyes and feigned sleep, just in case someone looked in to check on her. A silly notion, most likely. Why would anyone bother at this point, considering everything that was going on outside? But no sense taking chances.

A woman's voice came through the door, practically demanding entrance. Astrid's eyes shot open, a dose of panic speeding up her heart. She knew that voice and it was definitely not Heather.

The door swung open and in came Sheen, storming in like she had important business that couldn't be delayed. She didn't bother speaking to Astrid, who sat up in her bed and acted like she'd just been rudely awakened from deep sleep, but instead went to a vacant bed and placed a disc-like object on the mattress. In the dim light coming from the hallway, Astrid could make out a few gems embedded in the disc's dark metal. The gems had violet auras to them, which marked them as more Alchemist gadgetry.

When Sheen turned to face Astrid, the cold glare on her face said oodles about Sheen's intentions. Sheen was about to do something, and it filled Astrid with dread expectation. Sheen had her myssteel chain wrapped around her shoulders and chest, which made it difficult for Sheen to easily access it, but that didn't make it inaccessible. Astrid glanced at Olaf, who was lingering in the doorway, looking fearful and uncertain. He knew Sheen wasn't supposed to be coming near Astrid, but he clearly didn't want to get on Sheen's bad side. He would be no help if this got ugly.

"I know what you're thinking," said Sheen casually. "Not too many good reasons for me showing up at this late hour. Do not worry – again, I'm sworn to not lay a finger on you. But there are so many other ways to touch people that don't require fingers, and I owe you for a lesson for your disrespect."

Astrid sat quietly. She wasn't going to say a word. Let the psycho-lady get in her insults, if that's what she wanted.

"See, I've realized something," continued Sheen. "I knew I didn't like you, but I wasn't sure why. Then it hit me – you're a romantic. One of those woman warriors who think you can have love and still make a go of it on the battlefield. I really _hate_ those kinds of warriors, because they treat an inherent weakness like a badge of honor. 'Oh, you're lost and alone because you don't have anyone to care about and stand with you.' Well, I do have someone – me. And you won't see my work getting undermined by being too focused on someone else to do my job right."

Astrid suspected that Sheen had had a conversation like this before, that there was painful history involved here. She honestly didn't care. She just wanted Sheen to get it out of her system and go.

"Love is a weakness, Astrid. Not that I expect you to believe me on words alone. That's why I brought this." Sheen gestured to the disc-shaped device with one hand while reaching over and tapping one of the violet stones with the other. The stones began to light up in a random blinking fashion, the inner lights emitting a purple luminance into the air above the disc. As Sheen talked, the lighting grew stronger and stronger, the area above the cot morphing from a lavender lightshow to a moving picture that slowly gained definition and clarity as time progressed. Astrid might have been impressed if she wasn't so perturbed by Sheen and her intentions.

"This is what the Alchemist calls a projector. I don't know the details, wouldn't understand them if I did, but the basic idea is that it shows a series of pictures at such a fast rate that it looks like you're watching something real and alive happening before you. Did you know that Dark Star's red eye isn't just for decoration? It actually stores everything it sees, stores them on these pretty purple crystals. Then the Alchemist removes the crystal and shows us what her pet dragon saw while out and about. I borrowed this one to show you something important. The crystals I have here are from Dark Star's time at the Repository – you remember that time, right? That was the day I almost lost my meal ticket thanks to you and your friends."

There were images now that resembled a dark tunnel rushing by, things falling all around and the picture wildly swooshing and veering as the picture-maker dodged the debris. It took Astrid a little bit to understand what she was seeing, but when it hit it probably would have knocked her off her feet had she been standing up. This was what Dark Star, the Alchemist's Night Fury, was seeing during her flight. It was literally a dragon's eye view of the world, though this world was oddly dark and strewn with falling debris.

"No sound, I fear," commented Sheen, who was watching the image projector with rapt interest, as if waiting for the good part to arrive. "But I won't need sound to get the point across.

Ahead, there was a growing circle of white, which Dark Star flew toward at an insane speed. Within seconds, the Night Fury cleared the tunnel and was looking upon the whirlpool waters surrounding the Repository, speeding up into the sky at a dizzying rate.

"Dark Star just cleared the falling tower, with me and Kong on board," elaborated Sheen. "I was very glad to see the sky again, let me tell you."

The picture twisted around as Dark Star looked out past the whirlpool. Astrid spotted the _Zenith_ sailing near the edge of the whirlpool, the mighty warship defying the pull of the ocean as it fired down some kind of projectile into the center of the gigantic maelstrom. Then the picture shifted again as the dragon changed course, angling its body so it could look back at the tower it had escaped from.

The tower was collapsing, the stone structure leaning more and more as the ground below it gave way. It was an exciting display of destruction, but also sad, like watching ancient history crumble before your eyes. For Astrid, the excitement had long since faded, because she knew she was watching the only entrance in and out of the Repository seal up. If her friends were still in there…

Then something flew out of the tower's top, something dragon-shaped. Astrid almost cried out in relief upon seeing the welcome form of Arc zooming safely away from the tower. There were people on his back – her friends had made it. Hiccup had to be right behind, because if Arc could make it out, Toothless could easily do the same.

Hiccup had to be right behind him… right?

The smile on Sheen's face erased every ounce of relief in her. Sheen touched one of the crystals on the projector and the picture froze in place, as if time had come to a stop. The center of the picture held Arc, with three discernible figures on his back. "Near as I can tell, those three are the Seer, the Alchemist's stupid little adopted brat… and a third person I don't know anything about." She pointed to each figure in turn, her finger accidentally going through the image and obscuring the picture for a few seconds before she withdrew it. "So we know those four made it out. As for anyone else…"

She started the projector again, and Dark Star's head swiveled to stare at the tower, which continued its descent toward the rocky bottom and the waves rushing back into the gap they had vacated. The tower didn't even make it all the way down before the ocean swallowed it up again, the sea flooding the region with titanic splashes and swirls.

Dark Star watched the end of Repository for a long while, circling the area in an aerial search pattern. Perhaps she was longing for the fallen master that she had left behind and hoped to find the Alchemist swimming about. She darted her eye around from time to time, watching the _Zenith_ set sail on an unknown course, and watching Arc fly off into the clouds, escaping any potential retribution from the dragon. The empty sea and equally empty sky showed no signs of any other dragons. Not once was there any image of another Night Fury flying around, much less escaping the fall of the tower.

Sheen reached over and tapped the projector a final time, the images winking out of existence and leaving the room in solemn shadows. Astrid couldn't see Sheen's face as well as before, but she knew the psychotic woman was smiling just the same.

"Just so you know, there's no way to alter the pictures stored on the gems," she said, her tone despicably cheerful. "What you saw is what Dark Star saw, and what you _didn't_ see is proof of your precious Dragon Rider's survival. The Alchemist didn't want to tell you this. She figured you'd be more compliant if you were more… hopeful. So you see, I did you a favor. I showed you the truth, and from truth comes enlightenment, or so the Alchemist likes to say. How you use your enlightenment is up to you."

Astrid thought she could handle it. Maybe shout a denial or a _you lie_ at Sheen. Maybe jump out of bed and cold-cock the smile off of Sheen's face. Astrid didn't, not because she was better than that, but because she knew Sheen wanted a reaction, wanted an excuse. It took every ounce of willpower in Astrid's spirit to stay silent in her bed, but she pulled it off. Sheen would not get the reaction she wanted.

Sheen waited in the dark for said reaction, but after a long while Sheen lost her patience, shrugged, grabbed the projector, and headed for the door. She might have left unsatisfied had she not heard a faint sniffle from Astrid. She stopped, listened from more, and was reward with a second low sniffle. It wasn't the outburst she wanted, but she had scored a hit regardless.

As Sheen turned to leave, she found that Olaf had morphed into Heather during the projector show, the young Viking glaring at her as if she was intruding in private territory. Sheen was so satisfied right now that Heather's glare meant nothing to her, though she did find it a little curious that Heather seemed so put out by Sheen's actions. Perhaps Heather needed a lesson of her own later on, and oh how Sheen would enjoy teaching it.

"Was that necessary?" Heather said, her voice low and serious.

"No, it wasn't," said Sheen happily, moving past Heather and strolling down the hallway, intending to catch up with Kong and prepare for the real excitement. She was accompanied by the choked sounds of sobbing, Astrid losing what little restraint she had left, and it buoyed her mood even further.

Had she turned around to get in one final comment, she might have seen Heather with tears streaming down her face, and with Heather unable to provide a satisfactory answer for their existence.

* * *

The crewmembers of the armada were boarded and at the ready, manning their posts and preparing the ships for launch. Tethers were loosened, clamps were released, and gangways were raised. Heads were counted and weapons handed out, the archers gathered in tight groups along the decks while boarding parties were organized and instructed. Helmsmen took to their "leaners" (a name given to the strange apparatus that steered each vessel; you slid your arms into a pair of steel sheathes and leaned with your whole body) while stockers secured provisions with rope and heavy weights.

Riding on the back of Dark Star, in the same flamboyant manner as she had the previous evening, The Alchemist flew past the bow of each ship, waving to her men and women. Cheers erupted at her passing, serving to soothe anxious nerves. The troops knew they had a hard fight ahead of them, but almost all of them believed that victory was certain with the Alchemist leading the charge. The few that didn't believe wisely kept quiet on the matter.

Dark Star flew out to the middle of the lake and hovered in midair, a feat that no natural Night Fury could've pulled off. Facing the armada, the Alchemist touched a gem on her newly refurbished armband and projected a single word into it, the command carried to all her ship captains simultaneously.

_Proceed._

With military precision, all seven ships sailed out from their docks and into the lake proper, the large vessels gliding through the murky waters more effortlessly than the best sailboat invented. Despite the lack of sail, mast, and oar, the ships powered on as if daring the laws of nature to make a fuss about the obvious flaunting of mystical propulsion. Many glow-stones and other important gems illuminated the fleet in the thin darkness, outlining the contours of each vessel and adding to the wonder and menace of these unbound war machines.

The warships' synchronized display of launching might have made for an awe-inspiring moment to an outside observer (and there were, in fact, four such observers watching right then) if not for the inescapable fact that in less than a minute they'd be running aground on the other side of the lake. An inauspicious end to an auspicious beginning. But naturally, the Alchemist already had that part covered.

_Rise,_ she ordered.

Unlike most sea-going vessels, the armada did not bob or bounce with the waves. The water parted before them, as if afraid to touch the stone surface of the ships. At first, it looked like the vessels were now bobbing upward, as if physics had finally said, "Enough!" Sadly for physics, the ships didn't bob back down. They kept going upward… and upward…and upward.

The hulls of the vessel rose and rose until they cleared the water entirely, a rain of sea water droplets pouring back to earth as the ships left the water and sailed the air instead. The ship crews looked around like wide-eyed children, hundreds of soldiers marveling at the sensation and perspective of going airborne for the first time in their lives. Remarkably, the ships put on more speed while in the air, rising further and further as they cleared the lake and flew over the hard ground of the island. They would soon fly beyond the hidden base and into the open air beyond the illusion-field, where they would hit rougher air and rougher seas. The ships would have no problem with such conditions – nothing less than a hurricane would prove an obstacle to their advance. Likewise, the illusion-field would not hinder their egress, nor would it block them from returning. Anyone could leave the shield without difficulty, and all her flying machines and vessels carried special gems that allowed easy entry.

Following the Alchemist's command, Dark Star sped ahead of the fleet and lead the way, her master standing tall and proud on her back. In short order, the ships would assume a battle formation and prepare for a heavy assault against a determined enemy. But for now, pageantry and pomp were allowed. The Alchemist wanted to enjoy the moment, this once-in-a-lifetime occurrence when her plan was put into motion. From here on out, it would be nothing but serious business, but right now she could breathe in the thrill of spectacle and allow herself to bask in the dream of tomorrow, where the future that she would force upon humanity became a reality.

There was no hiding the fleet from the eyes of others now, but secrecy was no longer a problem. So what if she was seen? She was the Alchemist, and where she traveled, the thunder would follow.

Let Cervantes see what was coming at him. Let them _all _see what was coming.

* * *

Indeed, they did see what was coming. Arc, Saga, Qiao, and Linebreaker saw it plain as daylight. They even had front-row seats to the spectacle, their hearts sinking as the ships rose into the air.

They watched wordlessly, sharing dismayed, unhappy glances with one another. The magnitude of what they had witnessed was undeniable. Even after the ships were past the caldera and had disappeared out to sea, the group found their will to act suppressed by the power they had witnessed. For once, things seemed just a little too hopeless, their enemy just a little too powerful. The Alchemist had flying warships – how did they even begin to rival that kind of firepower?

Arc broke the silence by breaking his Shroud, his sudden reappearance attracting the others' attention. He donned an unimpressed smile. "I bet half the crews on those ships get airsickness within the hour," he jested.

Qiao and Linebreaker broke into hearty laughter, fueled by the release of their anxiety. It wasn't a great joke, but it did what it needed to do. Saga refused to laugh, but the smile on her face made it clear that she appreciated Arc's levity.

"We will meet again soon," he reassured as he stretched out his wings for flight. "And don't take this too personally, as I say this to all my friends… but please don't do anything too stupid while I'm gone."

Arc took to the sky and Shrouded on the fly, speeding to catch up to the flying armada. Qiao watched him until his distortion was too distant to make out, hoping that he'd be okay all by himself. It was a dumb thing to worry about – this was Arc, after all, the one the group voted as the most likely to survive until the Apocalypse cameth – but she still fretted regardless. She'd gotten used to the guy, and it was hard to find people in the world you could get genuinely used to.

Saga nodded toward the base, signaling that the time was upon them. Without further comment, the three of them covertly made their way down the slope and around the rocks, eyes alert for traps and sentries and any and all manner of mischief that might await them. Saga led the way as before, relying on her sixth-sense to get them where they needed to go with the minimum of difficulty.

They expected trouble, but hoped for answers. In the end, they found plenty of both.


	9. Brewing

**Chapter Eight: Brewing**

It was a long, painful hour before Heather dared to open the door to Astrid's cell. Not a word had been spoken, unless sniffs and sobs qualified. Heather stood at attention next to the door, wiping away her tears while thinking about their escape plan, making sure that she hadn't overlooked any lethal holes in the plan. She couldn't think of any… well, any holes she didn't know about already. If she couldn't get a Hunter platform to start, if there were more guards than expected, if the battle between the Alchemist and Cervantes turned out to be extremely short-lived… any of those would do the trick.

Dwelling on them wasn't especially helpful, but it beat dwelling on what Sheen had shown Astrid. At least it made the tears fewer.

The hour expired and Heather decided it was safe to proceed. The armada was gone, and Sheen with it. Olaf was stationed somewhere else in the building, probably guarding the kitchen and helping himself to the leftovers, but otherwise it should just be the two of them.

She unlocked and opened the door. Astrid was right where she was before, sitting on her bed with her knees up to her chest, her face buried under her arms. She made no sound, no acknowledgement of Heather. She hadn't even bothered to put her boots on.

"Astrid, let's go," she said softly. Astrid didn't stir, didn't even look up. Of all the possible reactions Heather had hoped for, this was the worse. Where was irrational, suspicious, hostile Astrid when you needed her?

"Astrid, we need to go," Heather insisted. "I don't know how big a time window we have, but it's not getting any bigger."

It was like talking to the deaf. Astrid made no response, moved not a single muscle.

"Don't even think about giving up on me, Astrid!" Heather replied, more heatedly than she intended. She was feeling a little panicked now – their plan was precarious enough as is without Astrid in such a state. "We're _both_ getting out of here."

"I was trying to protect him." Astrid's whispered words were barely audible, muffled as they were, and it almost drove Heather to tears to hear them. If not for the blossoming anxiety within her, her cheeks would be wet again.

"I came along to make sure he came home," Astrid continued, her face rising off her knees, her red tear-strewn eyes staring at some imaginary point beyond Heather. "I… dropped for him, so he'd be able to save himself and Toothless. I thought he'd get out. It's Hiccup, he always finds a way to save the day. But I think… I think it was still too late, and not even Nestor could…"

A few tears spilled down her face as she choked back a sob. Heather sat down beside her and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. It felt inadequate against the anguish her friend felt, but it was something.

"Astrid, you have to stay strong here," said Heather. "All Sheen showed you was Dark Star's perspective. We don't know for certain that Hiccup didn't get out."

Astrid managed a scowl, though she didn't look at Heather. "Your eyes are red, Heather. You believe it as much as I do."

"I believe what we saw was the truth, but not the _whole_ truth," said Heather. "He might not have come out _that_ way, but if anyone could figure out how to escape a water-filled cavern, it's Hiccup."

"Heather, the _ocean_ came in!" Astrid snarled. "The last thing I remember was that Nestor was trying to save Hiccup and Toothless somehow. But we saw Arc fly out without Nestor, and Arc wouldn't never have left Nestor… unless there was no choice."

Astrid looked away again, anger and grief mixing on her face. Heather was running low on reassuring things to say. Astrid was refusing consolation. She wasn't having any of it.

Astrid felt like her will to survive had decided to take a swan dive into a pool of lava. Dark Star's memory of the collapse of the Repository made the matter final. There _was _no other way out. The Alchemist had cheated death with teleportation, but Hiccup didn't have anything like that. She had lost him, and while she was supposed to celebrate his victories and accomplishments, as was the Viking way, all she could think about was how empty her life felt right now. No more flights with Hiccup and Toothless, either sitting behind him or flying on his wing with Beatrix. No more adventures or scar-creating battles with Alvin or Cervantes. No more dragon-training, no more kisses or hugs, no life together, no children, no _future…_

"You told me Nestor had jumped over to save you guys, right?" said Heather, desperately trying another tact. "Nestor, this Outlander fellow Hiccup met a few months ago, correct? What was he trying to do?"

Astrid scowled again. "Why does it matter?"

"Think carefully," said Heather, her tone insistent. "What was he doing?"

"He was jumping over the broken parts of the bridge we were on," said Astrid. Her scowl faded as she recollected those last frantic moments. Most of her attention was on not falling at the point, but she did recall Nestor landing hard… and with something in his hands.

"I think… I think he was carrying something," said Astrid, struggling with her inadequate memory. "He jumped pretty far, and through a wall of water, to get over to us."

Heather heard either confusion or hope in that last sentence. She pressed on. "So either Nestor was a suicidal kind of guy… ooooorrrrr…"

Astrid looked at Heather with a very uncertain, but very real, expression of hope on her face. "Or maybe he had a plan," she said.

But the expression didn't hold, and despair swept in again as Astrid gritted her teeth and shook her head in denial. "It's a fantasy, Heather. What could Nestor have brought with him that could've saved them from a collapsing cave?"

"I don't know, Astrid, but it's something to hold onto, isn't it? Look, I'm not going to lie. I can't tell you that Hiccup made it out when I have no proof. I want him to be alive almost as badly as you do. I care about him, too… a lot, really… but even if he's gone, I know he would want us to get out of here, find your friends, and stop the Alchemist. He'd want you to keep fighting, to survive… because I know how much he loves you."

Astrid's face branched away from anger, despair, and grief, and showed something new – curiousness. "You know this because…"

Heather bit her lip, not sure if this was the best time for this. For all she knew, it might make matters worse. But then matters couldn't get much worse, could they? "Because I said something to Hiccup six months ago, when he and Toothless stopped by my village for a visit. He was doing an errand for his dad, taking a trade contract to another Viking tribe, and he thought he'd say hello. We swapped tales. I told him about my father's epic battles with the rabbit population of our island and he'd tell me about how he kept the village from being wrecked by angry Changewings – his tales were always better. He'd mentioned you, of course, and how you were working on stunt flying with your Nadder… and then he got wistful, like some sad thought had occurred to him. I asked what was wrong and he told me that maybe he was waiting for something to happen that wasn't going to. My girl's intuition kicked in and I knew he was talking about you and him… you know, being more than just friends. And… that's when I told him that I liked him, and that maybe he was looking in the wrong direction."

Heather expected an outburst, a fist to the face, or at the very least a dirty look from Astrid. She'd just confessed to, essentially, trying to steal her man. Astrid's eyes did narrow, but there was no outburst, much less physical injury. Heather realized Astrid was giving her a chance to explain herself. She took it.

"He's a good man, Astrid. Good men don't come flying down from the sky every day. Smart, caring, compassionate – you know, almost completely unlike ninety-percent of the Viking men around. I knew you had a thing for him, but you two were moving so slow that two glaciers had a better chance of getting together than you two. So… I told him I liked him. I told him he deserves someone who wants him in her life, and is not afraid to say so. And then he looks at me wide-eyed, in that way boys get when they realize things just got messy. He hems and haws for a few seconds, and then says those wonderful words that every girl wants to hear – I like you, just not in _that _way."

Heather sighed, feeling the disappointment return as she told her story. She welcomed it – disappointment still beat out grief. "He explained that even if Astrid (you, of course) never did come around to feeling for him what he felt for you, he wasn't giving up just yet. He believed you'd come around – you had before on bigger issues, like riding dragons instead of killing them. He'd just give you time. And that's when I knew he really loved you, and while I kinda sorta hated you a little right then, I hoped you'd come around, for his sake. And you did."

Astrid nodded her understanding, her face having gone neutral, neither sad nor relieved. It was the best Heather could hope for, and she smiled sympathetically. "You feel like punching me yet?"

Astrid hesitated and then shook her head. "No… I think there's a lot of other people who need punching more than you." There was a growing fire in her eyes now, some of the old dragon-lady Astrid coming to the surface. Heather nodded in approval. They were both still very far from okay, and she honestly didn't know how much she believed in Hiccup's likelihood of survival, but such thoughts were for after they were free. For now, they could only afford one goal and one mindset – escape.

"Hand me my boots, will you?" said Astrid, now grim and determined. "It's time I got some fresh air."

* * *

Most of the troops left behind on Sanctuary were the non-combative type, and most were thankful for that. The Alchemist was careful with her selections, and she usually avoided thrusting into battle those amongst her troops who lacked that certain fire in the belly. There was plenty of room in her army for all kinds, and somebody had to sweep the floors and keep the home fires burning while everyone else went to war.

Three such homebody guards had initially been pleased by the armada's departure as it gave them a chance to continue their card game outside, sitting on the ground in a little out-of-the-way corner of the base. There was real money involved here, which was frowned upon by the Alchemist but made the game twice as exciting. It was the only real excitement on the island that didn't involved weaponry.

They had been at it for an hour, with Phillip up ten coins and Terrance convinced that Phillip might be slight-of-handing the cards somehow, and so engrossed were they that not a single one of them was aware of the red-haired woman approaching. Then again, there was an excellent chance they wouldn't have noticed her even if they didn't have their noses to the cards.

Phillip was the first one to realize the trouble they were in, right as Saga's boot collided with his head. The other two guards made similar realizations right after.

"Sheesh, save some for the rest of us," commented Qiao, walking up to the three sprawled and pained guards and commencing a pat down on the closest one for weapons and important items. Behind her, Linebreaker was keeping an eye out for other wandering guards, his cutlass out and at the ready.

"I doubt we will run out of goons to take down on this day." Saga checked the other two men and found little of value. One of them hadn't quite gone unconscious from Saga's kick to the head, and Saga focused her attention on the soon-to-be-unfortunate soul.

He watched her fearfully as she knelt down and took one of his hands by the wrist. She twisted it slightly, eliciting a groan and rendering him fully aware. She withdrew a dagger with her other hand and held it before the man's frightened eyes, letting the light from a local glow-stone glint off it to heighten the drama.

"Recognize the quality of this weapon?" said Saga, low and threateningly. "Your leaders carry such weapons. It can slice through stone. Imagine what it can do to flesh." She moved it closer to his trapped wrist. "I want answers. If you refuse, or if you give me false information, I will demonstrate this weapon's effectiveness on your wrist… and then other parts of your body."

Saga expected the guard to roll over quickly, and he did just that. She asked him where the armada had gone, and he admitted that he didn't know much, only that it was to fight some guy named Cervantes that had taken over the Alchemist's flagship. She asked how many soldiers were left on the base. He didn't know, but he guessed at a few dozen.

She then turned to the base's layout, demanding the location of the armory, the Alchemist's private quarters… and the prison.

"No prison," said the guard. "If you don't behave around here, you get flogged, exiled, or executed."

"You have holding cells, do you not?" said Saga, holding her dagger right up to the skin of the man's wrist.

"Yeah, yeah," he said frantically. "But we don't have any prisoners here… well, except the one that came in with the Alchemist."

Qiao, who had been busy pocketing the gambling money while Saga was interrogating, started and looked Saga's way. "What?"

Internally, Saga's frosted-over heart felt genuine warmth for the first time in days. But none of that hope-inspired warmth showed as her icy glare intensified on the poor guard. She ignored Qiao and said, "Where is she?"

The guard looked uncertain. "I wasn't in charge of YAA!"

Saga pressed the dagger's blade into his skin. One simple slip left or right would render the guard one-handed. "_Where?_"

"The barracks, the barracks!" he cried out, immediately followed by directions to the barracks. His reward for his cooperation was to have the dagger removed from its threatening position, only to have its hilt smash against his forehead and send him to dreamtime.

Saga stood up and faced her two companions, who were now quite fairly expecting answers from her. "How did you know the prisoner is a _she_?" demanded Qiao.

"You haven't been sharing, Seer," said Linebreaker. "You suspected something, didn't you?"

"I have only a hope, Captain," she said. Then she looked at Qiao squarely, and for once Qiao saw something other than pain or dispassion in Saga's eyes. Suddenly Qiao felt a similar lift in her spirit, as she understood what Saga was really saying. Linebreaker came to the same conclusion and laughed very lightly, the world continuously surprising him both with its miracles and its horrors.

"This is no longer just a fact-finding mission," said Saga. "This is a rescue mission. I will go to the barracks and learn if the prisoner is who I believe it is. We will also need to secure transportation, or disable their ability to follow us."

"I think all the big flying boats are gone," said Linebreaker. "And they fly a fair pace. They'll give chase once they know the prisoner is gone."

Qiao looked at Linebreaker. "We went by all those Hunter platforms on our way in," she said. "Remember, that big yard full of, what you'd call them, flying stone crabs?"

"Those things?" said Linebreaker. "They're mockeries of aesthetics, like the Alchemist's idea of an tasteful uniform." He waved at the unconscious guards and their drab outfits.

"Well, do you think you can fly one of those mockeries?"

Linebreaker made another cockroach-eating face. "Fly? My stomach has yet to forgive me for the last time I flew."

"Is it possible?" asked Saga.

"I wouldn't know where to begin. Give me a few weeks…"

Saga waved off his comment. "Then we disable them as best we can. You two go to the platforms and do what you can. I imagine your bow will come in handy, Qiao."

Qiao smiled in anticipation. Nothing got her blood pumping better than firing off a few arrows, and these ones _exploded_. But then a non-archery-related thought popped up.

"I would like to poke around Alche's room," said Qiao. "We might find something important."

"I do not think we can afford the time," said Saga.

"If the guard was correct, it's not far out of the way, and I'm pretty sure we're never coming around here again. We'll kick ourselves if we pass up the opportunity."

Saga mulled it over and then said, "Agreed. But you will have very little time. We must leave here before the fleet returns, or I dare say we will never leave at all."

They agreed to return to their initial lookout spot once they had done all that they could, with dawn being the latest they could stay. If all went well, they'd return to Ship and leave the island before the armada came back. If not…

They moved the guards inside a vacant storage room and braced the door as best they could. They'd eventually get out or get found, but hopefully not for some time.

With final looks of hope and well-wishing, the companions split off to their separate objectives – Saga to rescue the prisoner she hoped was Astrid, Qiao and Linebreaker to Alche's quarters. As she left, Saga wished she had better insight to go on than just her gut, as her visions had not given her clarity for what came next, only warnings as to what would befall them if they failed.

She found herself wishing Nestor was at her side. Even when things were out of control, she always felt comforted by having the Outlander at her back. But she was Gunnarr – she didn't put much stock in wishing, only action. And vision or no vision, she knew without a doubt that things were about to go out of control.

* * *

Astrid and Heather found the first leg of their escape pretty uneventful, considering how deserted the base was and how quiet the buildings had become. That didn't make their journey any less unnerving. The hallways in the barracks echoed like empty tombs, and Astrid often started at a second pair of footsteps that round up being her own rebounding back at her. Every door and every hallway was a potential problem, danger and discovery lurking around every corner.

Astrid thought having a disguise at this point might have been a smart move, but it was a little late to go searching through wardrobes for a uniform that fit. Heather didn't think it would make a difference, not with most of the base devoid of personnel.

All this skulking in shadows and anxious wandering did do one thing for her: it kept her from thinking about Hiccup. The other thing that helped was imagining Sheen's white hair on fire, or her leg slipping into a Gronckle's mouth. A bit gruesome, but Thor help her, Sheen deserved the imagery.

Hiccup _was_ okay. He _had _to be okay.

Deep down, she must not believe it. That had to explain how quickly she fell apart after seeing Dark Star's memories played out before her. Part of her still believed that Hiccup was too clever to die in that cavern, that he had friends like Nestor and Arc to help him and so he couldn't have possibly died like that. But… but on the other hand…

No. Not here. Get out, get free, and get revenge if need be. Right now was not the time to think about him.

Following Heather, they went in and out of two other buildings, taking a circuitous route toward the flying platforms. Heather explained that this was to avoid the most heavily trafficked parts of the base, where the troops and minions might congregate in the Alchemist's absence. Astrid trusted Heather on this, but it felt like they were taking the long way around regardless.

The other reason was the need to stop at a particular storeroom, one that Heather had visited earlier in the morning. They had a few things to pick up, one of which meant a lot to Astrid and which would come in very handy if their circuitous route failed to keep them out of sight. The items were bundled in a raggedy blanket and stashed behind some barrels full of tar. Since tar wasn't used much, Heather thought it would suffice as a short-term hiding spot.

After another series of hallways, corners, and two flights of stairs, they soon neared an open doorway with flickering candlelight coming from it instead of the common blue ambiance that went with glow-stones. Heather frowned, stopped, and gestured for Astrid to stay quiet and stay close. They tiptoed toward the door and hugged the wall as little noises and a soft human voice flowed out of the doorway. Astrid assumed this was the storeroom in question, but it wasn't as disused as Heather claimed.

They crept right to the doorway, Heather sneaking a peak and then withdrawing her head, a bewildered look on her face. She mouthed for Astrid to stay put, then squared her shoulders and calmly walked through the doorway.

"Oh, ah… Heather!" Astrid immediately recognized Olaf's embassarred voice, her other guard. For some reason he was in the storeroom. Curiosity made her want to sneak a peek, but she knew better than to let curiosity win on this one.

"Sorry, Olaf," said Heather. "Didn't know you were in here… doing that."

"This? Oh… ah… I'm just… practicing for the next play. You know, one of those Greek tragedies the Alchemist likes to watch."

"Sure, sure." Heather kept her voice cheerfully nonjudgmental. "Grown men play with wooden dolls for lots of reason. What play is this?"

A pause, then: "The one with the Cyclops?"

"Oh, I like that one. Very epic."

"Say, why are you over here?" Olaf's tone changed, getting more demanding. Probably to get the subject off his… dolls? "The barracks are three buildings west."

"Well, I didn't get much breakfast today, so I thought I'd nip into a storeroom and grab something."

Another pause. Astrid couldn't tell if this was going well or not. "If it's vittles you're after, you're way off. Most of that stock is near the kitchen."

Heather feigned a groan. "Am I? I'm always getting turned around. You think you can do me a favor and show me? It'll save me time, because I really need to get back to guarding the prisoner."

"Ahhh…" This was apparently a difficult decision for Olaf, and he paused yet again. "Well, it's not like I'm doing anything important."

"Right, we go _out_ and nip around the _corner_ before anyone else _sees_ us," said Heather. Astrid caught the emphasis and quietly moved around the closest corner.

"You're talking funny," said Olaf.

Heather faked a cough. "Hay fever."

For a moment, Heather's idea appeared to be working. Astrid listened as Heather and Olaf came out into the hallway… and then stopped abruptly. Olaf's voice rang out again, this time with an accusing edge to it.

"Wait, is this blackmail?"

"Blackmail?" said Heather, keeping her voice sweet. "For what?"

"You know what."

"No, I don't."

"Don't act cute. My figurine collection is very important to me. Some of them are collectors."

"I'm not judging."

"Then _why are you here?_ You're a smart girl. You know where everything is on the base. You're going to tell me that you just happen to wander in on me at the exact time (WHAM!) Ahhhahhhaha…"

Heather's idea of improvisation involved the use of a silver tongue. Astrid's version involved a blow to the back of the head by way of a handy chair. Olaf quickly slunk to the ground, quite out of it.

Heather hadn't seen Astrid sneak up on Olaf and she jumped in tandem with the attack. She then glared at Astrid. "I could've won him over, Astrid."

"This works faster," defended Astrid. "Help me get him inside."

They carried Olaf into the storeroom and wound up hiding him where Heather had stashed the goods. By the time he came to, they'd be long gone or captured. They moved the heavy tar barrels around so that he'd have some difficulty getting clear of the storeroom if he happened to awaken early.

Heather opened the ratty blanket and unveiled the contents – some dried meats, two full waterskins, one of those gem-encrusted harnesses that Astrid assumed was the control harness to a flying platform, and a battleaxe whose steel head gleamed like silver.

Astrid took the axe in both hands and felt a wave of emotion threaten her new resolve. As great a weapon it was, what mattered more was how it felt like she was holding a piece of Hiccup in her hands. It was the first and only weapon Hiccup had made her, a fact that mattered more knowing how Hiccup generally disliked making weapons. And… and it was possible that this was the only memento she would ever have of him, if he was…

She shook her head furiously, banishing the thoughts once more. She was not going to go there, and she shoved that wave of emotion back to whence it came. She would feel it in time, there was no way to escape that certainty, but she could keep it at bay a while longer.

"I don't know if this food will last us until we reach civilization," said Heather, donning the harness so that the gem-side sat across her chest, "but it's all I could safely take without raising suspicion."

"I know how to fish," replied Astrid. "We'll worry about food once we get out of here, hopefully before we run into anyone else we know."

* * *

Alche had her private room secured with a triple-lock combo, one of which was a fancy combination model and another with a special gem design that adhered a gem in the door and a gem in the wall together, sticking them together like nails driven into wood. Many thieves would have had difficulty with the first two locks, and they'd _all_ find the third lock impossible to bypass. You had to un-enchant the door-stone to get that one to open, and only Alche knew how to do that.

Or you slipped a very thin piece of leather between the two stones, breaking the link.

Qiao chuckled evilly as the third lock came free and the door swung open. Alche might think that Qiao had resorted to thievery as a last-resort way to survive in the open world (and to some degree, she was right), but Qiao had always had a knack for getting into locked and forbidden places. Alche had even assisted her inadvertently by teaching her the mechanics of these kinds of locks, back when she thought Qiao could be "enlightened."

"It is like watching an artist breathe life into a canvas," said Linebreaker from behind her. "I had never seen such finesse done with such ugly things as… locks."

"Shouldn't your eyes be elsewhere?" cautioned Qiao, taking down the last, and simplest, of the three locks with her lockpick set.

Linebreaker scoffed at the idea. "We haven't seen another human around in some time. If not for those three guards we ran into, I'd say this base has been utterly evacuated."

"Don't think that for a second," said Qiao. "That's how we'll get caught." Privately, though, she was amazed at how empty the place felt. It shouldn't have been _this_ easy to get around. Either Alche had grown so arrogant as to leave almost no one behind, or else there was a fancy party going on somewhere in the base and everyone had gotten an invite.

Qiao opened the door tentatively, making sure she wasn't tripping any alarms or traps by doing so. She hadn't thought Alche would bobby trap her own room, but she couldn't dismiss the idea entirely. Alche was clearly capable of a lot of things.

Nothing shot out or went boom, nor did Qiao spy any trap-signs. The two of them entered quickly, shutting the door behind them. The room was dark initially, but then a white glow kicked in as a glow-stone in the ceiling activated.. True to form, Alche kept her room modest and simple. A bed, a desk, a wardrobe, and a small library adorned the room. No pictures, no art. Typical Alche. Also typical was the mountain of papers and parchment littering the desk area, much of it crumpled or tossed into an overflowing barrel. It was a striking change to the methodical and orderly way Alche kept everything else – it was her idea-spot. She had one everywhere she went, a place where she sat and scribbled and drew and crossed out and smeared and erased and tossed away. Idea after idea, design after design. Countless failed or unrealized projects were scattered on these pages, ideas that many a scholar and inventor would pay a king's ransom just to get a glimpse at, even if they didn't work.

"Keep quiet, and stick to information, not trinkets," Qiao instructed. She went to the furniture and began searching for any hidden compartments, starting with the wardrobe and the hanging sets of identical clothing.

Linebreaker moved to the desk and examined the top layers of parchment. Most of the writing was in a language he couldn't penetrate, the designs too technical for him to piece together. "She truly is a remarkable woman, this Alchemist," he commented. "It's too bad she seems bent on inflicting destruction."

"I don't know what she's bent on," said Qiao. She found nothing in the wardrobe, no hidden compartments or chambers that might house a hidden keepsake. She moved to the bed, feeling the mattress for any strange lumps.

"Be honest, Qiao," said Linebreaker. "The tower outside, the one that glows like it has a million stars on its surface… it is not an art project."

"I know what it is, Linebreaker," Qiao curtly replied. "It's a giant-sized version of the Catalyszier device she used to summon the Scouring. Alche shared some of the details while I was a prisoner on her ship."

"Indeed. And what else could its purpose be if not for Scouring on a wide scale?"

Qiao shook her head in denial. "She wants to make a better world. That's what she keeps saying. You can't make a better world if there's no world around to make better."

Linebreaker paused before speaking, looking for the right analogy and finding it. "Someday, many years from now, Ship will be too worn and too full of rot and wear to sail the ocean any longer. I can rebuild it in time, but to do so I will need to replace most of it. All its wood and sail, all its sealant and nails. In many ways everything that made Ship what it is will be gone, and what will stand in its place will be something new, something more seaworthy. In other words, I may have a better Ship… but I will have destroyed the original Ship to make it."

Qiao looked up from her search and frowned at her old friend. "We're not talking about sailing vessels, Captain."

Linebreaker kept flipping through papers and did not return the look. "No, we're talking about your mother and her desire to reinvent the world. Somehow, I don't think the current one is going to like the idea."

Qiao gave up on the bed and went to the bookshelves. She fiddled with each and every tome, checking for a hidden latch or a strange rattling or an unexplained weight discrepancy. "Look, let's save the guessing games until after we fail to find anything useful in here."

"You're not inspiring confidence," Linebreaker dryly commented.

"Alche's better at keeping secrets than I am," Qiao replied, "but I'm hoping she's gotten overconfident in her old age."

For a time there was only silence as Qiao searched the library and Linebreaker shoved papers around on the desk. He was almost to the bottom of the parchment piles when he heard Qiao laugh. He turned and saw her shaking a large tome tiled _Agricultural Technique Compendium_ in the language of Old English,a massive book that required two hands to wield without dropping_._ The book made a rattling sound when shaken, an atypical sound for your typical book. Qiao carefully opened it and showed that the pages were blank. More importantly, there was a hollowed-out section with a number of cylinders inside that had the shine of ivory, with little gems stuck on the ends. There were three of them, and while Linebreaker did not understand their significance, Qiao acted as if they were more valuable than a fleet of diamond-carrying merchant ships.

"I knew this was the right one," declared Qiao. "Alche kills plants just by standing next to them. She can't grow a thing, and she's tried." She laid the book on the bed and plucked up the ivory cylinders. "This is where she stores her memory sticks."

"Memory sticks?"

Qiao shrugged. "My name for them. You can put memories and thoughts into them, and it keeps them forever. She tried to get me to use them as my own personal diary, but I'm not sentimental about my thoughts."

Linebreaker was intrigued, though not enough to come over and investigate. He had his hand on something undeniably important, and he was patiently waiting for Qiao to be done with her discovery so they could move on to his. "These, then, would have her inner thoughts?"

"Yes… if we can access them." Qiao frowned. "Come to think of it, I don't remember how they work. I think they're attuned to one person only – Alche can read it, but not us."

"So what use are they?"

"I don't know, but we're taking them," she said, placing the memory sticks in her pack. "We have a Hyperion who knows a thing or two about, well, everything, so if anyone can crack them, it's him."

Qiao seemed satisfied, so after she returned the tome to its shelf he waved her to his side. He moved aside the stack of papers he'd been holding at bay and showed Qiao what lay underneath, keeping his face neutral so as not to influence Qiao's expectation. He wanted her to see this for herself and come to her own conclusions.

Qiao recognized it as a map depicting most of Europe, with a little bit of Africa and Asia poking in on the sides. Various kingdoms and countries were outlined, along with major cities and landmarks. The map looked like it had been taken from a local archive or a historian, and each label was in two different languages. Qiao thought the map nothing special, but then she saw the red arrow on it, starting from an unmarked place in the Mediterranean Sea and moving to Riki Poka. Qiao didn't have to work hard to guess what that meant.

But the arrows didn't stop there. They continued. Qiao felt her breath catch in her throat as she realized that every arrow pointed at a major city. The Barony of Luxen, New Crescent, Paris, London – every serious place of civilization, every capital, every seat of power in Europe. The red arrows crisscrossed the map, showing a path of intention… or conquest… or destruction.

Without a word, Linebreaker lifted up the map of Europe to reveal a map of Asia, similarly outlined and marked up in crimson. Then he lifted _that_ map to show one of Africa, also a mishmash of red arrows, though not as plentiful as the first two maps. And then there was _another _map under that, showing a continent that Qiao didn't recognize. It had no marks on it, no names, but she suspected that it was only because Alche hadn't gotten around to it yet

Qiao breathed again, but only because her body forced her to. She turned away from the maps and Linebreaker's grim face and leaned on the edge of the desk, trying to stay calm with steady breathing. She wanted to properly freak out right now, get angry and rant at the insanity of it all. But she'd have to save it for a better time, when her anger wouldn't jeopardize their safety.

"She really does mean it, doesn't she?" she said quietly, methodically so as to control her tone and not get loud. "It's not just pretty words or a fancy slogan. I hoped it was, but it's not. Not just a better army, not just a better city… a better _world_."

"One city at a time," said Linebreaker. "It's… ambitious, I'll give her that."

Qiao shook her head. "Ambitious? Only if you don't know Alche. She has time, lots of it, and she has power, great heaping amounts of power. Worst of all, she has a plan. All we've seen, everything she's put together… it's a plan. We don't know how all the details fit together, but this is a plan. And if we don't find a way to stop her… I think she'll pull it off."

Qiao's face suddenly went very grim. "Next time I run into Alche, I'll ask her straight out about this plan of hers… right before I put an arrow into her heart."

Linebreaker looked up from the maps and frowned at Qiao, who promptly ignored his questioning gaze. "You seriously mean to kill her?"

"Last I checked, an arrow through the heart did that."

"You know what I mean."

Qiao finally gave Linebreaker a fierce scowl, showing off the intensity of her determination. "She's lied to me about everything important. She's built an army. She's tried to kill the people I care about. And by your own words, she's going to do something extremely terrible. So if the moment arises… I will take her out."

"Qiao…" started Linebreaker, alarmed at his friend's ruthless words.

"Look, I'm not out for revenge," she said, trying to be reassuring. "I don't _want_ to kill her, and I hope the job goes to somebody else. But if one arrow can stop all this…"

She trailed off, not wanting to say anything more. Linebreaker felt like more needed to be said, a denial or two put in place, a statement that Qiao might be many things, but she was no assassin. But he was not a man skilled with words – fashion, the sea, even sword fighting, but not words. He did not have the confidence to sway his friend from taking rash action; never once had Qiao heeded his advice, whether it was to lay low when the heat was on, or to avoid taking a risky job based on nothing more than "it sounds exciting." Qiao would do what she felt she must, as she always did.

But for once, he honestly hoped Qiao did not get her way. Qiao did not have to die in battle in order for Linebreaker to lose her. The dark paths of life are crammed with the souls of the lost, and Linebreaker had seen more than a few associates become little more than pale shadows walking through life, victims of various cruelties – the ones done to them, and the ones they do onto others.

He wondered, not for the first time and not for the last, how much more would be on the butcher's bill before the Alchemist was stopped… provided she _could_ be stopped.

* * *

For much of Saga's existence, her role in life had been defined by her otherworldly ability to forecast the future. The Gunnarr revered her as a holy figure, a cultural icon and legacy that had helped steer the tribe through innumerable calamities, and it was traditional for her to stay at home, nestled away in the Hall of the Seer, sitting on a stone dais and dispensing advice to those who sought it. A role she would maintain until her time had come to join the other Seers in Valhalla.

That might have been her fate as well, had her father not forbidden her to take on the Right of Passage on the Isle of Frost, a trial of maturity and survival every Gunnarr youth undertook before achieving the title of warrior. Saga, daughter of the chief, felt it was her duty and privilege to uphold her family's honor, and so she stole away to the island on her own, weathering the relentless, numbing cold for a solid week. Though it nearly killed her, she found the experience invigorating. The excitement-filled life of a warrior versus the sedentary and imprisoning life of the Seer – the choice was easy.

It helped that she found her twin myssteel daggers embedded in the snow, sticking out hilt-first as if awaiting her touch. Destiny, it seemed, had wanted her to come there all along.

The incredibly sharp and carefully crafted daggers helped to convince her father that she could fulfill both roles at once, that the Gods themselves wanted this for her, and so he allowed her to practice her combat skills as much as she wanted. And practice she did, hunting alone in the wilderness, hiding in the shadows, sparring with every warrior in the tribe as often as she could. Her reputation grew as her accomplishments stacked up, and she became the first Seer to be respected as a champion of her people as well as for her visions.

Her role as the Seer had largely faded away, her name now cursed by her own people for her act of betrayal. But her warrior nature endured, and it was this warrior persona at the helm today. Her instincts were at their fullest as she slinked through the shadows of Sanctuary. She was in the moment, her eyes searching for the next hiding spot, the next threat. Her ears strained to pick up the telling footsteps of guards, her nose sniffing for telltale body odor. Her daggers were in her hands, poised to strike with lightning accuracy should an unlucky adversary show their face.

Except not a single adversary had done so.

An hour of skulking and searching… and not a soul was to be found wandering around or inside the hallways of the vacant stone buildings. No music, no laughter, no merriment reached her ears. If the guards were off enjoying themselves at a party, it was a quiet one. Saga had witnessed no more airships or platforms flying off, so no one had left the base since the armada's departure. It was like some invisible hand had scooped up all the remaining soldiers.

All this disturbed her more than any confrontation. The Alchemist would not leave her headquarters so completely unguarded. The three men she had accosted had gone about their card game as if nothing was amiss, so surely there were other soldiers around. But where were they congregating?

Something was very amiss, and her hard-won sense of anticipation and hope at seeing Astrid alive and well began to twist into sour despair. She had almost reached the barracks where the prisoner (who Saga believed to be Astrid) was kept, and as the empty feel of the base persisted she became fearful that the same godly hand that had carried away the guards had gotten to the prisoner as well, that she would find an unoccupied cell, her visions and efforts coming too late to make a difference, and Astrid would be lost once more.

But doubt had never stopped her before. Today would be no different.

She was about to enter the ground floor of the barracks when she heard the distant footfalls of booted feet coming from the opposite side of the building. Saga tensed and took to cover behind a stack of crates, listening, as the footfalls grew closer and came around the building. A whispered voice was added moments later, too soft to be understood. Saga readied her daggers, not to strike down but to intimidate. If these were guards, they might have information she needed.

Two figures came around the far end of the building, moving on without stopping. They were cautious and furtive, checking the walls and entrances for any dangers. They completely missed Saga and moved on, heading for an unknown destination away from the barracks.

Saga froze in place, not out of fear but out of joyful shock. She recognized one of the skulking figures at once, and everything about her thawed like the first warm day after a winter blizzard.

Astrid!

She didn't know the second woman, a dark-haired girl about Astrid's age, but Astrid was unmistakably real. Though the dark-haired girl wore the uniform of the Alchemist, the two girls moved like friends who trusted one another, the unknown girl leading the way. Astrid had her axe in hand and followed without hesitation. They must have a destination in mind – perhaps they already had an escape plan in motion.

So thrilled was Saga that she almost called out to her friend, her sister-by-bond though not by blood. But the warrior in her throttled the cry. A living, escaping Astrid was wonderful, but that didn't explain the vacant nature of the base. It didn't explain how easy this intrusion had been.

Caution was no longer advisable. It had become a necessity. Something was brewing here, and it would pay to stay out of sight until the brewing had fomented.

She let Astrid and her associate get some distance before she followed, trailing them in the shadows, hunting them like prized trophies-to-be. She yearned to break her silence, to greet her friend as friends should, openly and warmly, but her instincts kept her in check. If she was wrong, then little would have been lost for the precaution. But if she was right, then all their lives could be in serious jeopardy.

* * *

Astrid and Heather backtracked a ways after securing their gear and supplies, Heather now taking them on a more direct route to the Hunter landing zone. Though she continued to stay on her toes as they darted around the base, Astrid felt much more at ease now that her axe was back in her hands. She even half-wanted a goon to show up so she could cut him down to size. Heck, let the Alchemist herself show. She wasn't myssteel-proof… hopefully.

But the anxiety began to ramp up again as they closed in on the landing zone. Heather did all the talking as they moved, mostly simple directions, and not once did she ever suggest something was wrong. But the look on her face spoke volumes. Astrid felt the same way – this was extremely easy. The base had no guards save for Olaf, and he hadn't been on duty. There had to be valuable stuff left to steal, so why leave everything wide open?

Maybe it was all panic-fueled thinking. It could be that the Alchemist was your usual overconfident villain and that she didn't think guards were needed any longer. But that didn't feel right at all. The Alchemist wasn't dumb in the slightest. Regardless, this wasn't the time to speculate aloud. Keep quiet, move quickly, and thank the Gods for her good fortune – that was the plan.

They finally came to a large, flat area away from the main buildings, the ground flattened and filled in to create as level a location as you could inside a caldera. Astrid was too preoccupied to be outright amazed by anything, but she did find the ordered rows of dormant Hunter platforms somewhat impressive. They were standing on bent legs, their central platforms lowered to within step-up distance of the ground. There were dozens of them, a sea of giant three-legged stone crabs squatting at attention. Here and there were empty spots where a platform used to be parked. Those ones were probably with the armada. Next to each platform were piles of large rocks of the same composition as the stone that made up the sides of the caldera, the ammo for the defense screen and the scatter-cannons used by the platforms in combat.

Heather waved on Astrid as they walked into the rows of war machines, becoming more insistent as they moved past the parked platforms, the rest of the base disappearing into the background. She was leading them to what Astrid presumed was their chosen platform, the one linked to the harness Heather wore. They were so close now to their means of escape, yet Astrid didn't feel the slightest reassured. Based on the uneasy expression on Heather's face, Heather felt the same way.

"They wouldn't leave this place unguarded, would they?" Astrid finally asked.

Heather stopped, debating whether to reply, and then ultimately did. "I don't know, Astrid. No one's where they're supposed to be today."

"Do you think they're on to us?"

Heather shook her head. "If they were on to us, they would've caught us by now."

"Sound reasoning, I'll agree," said a familiar, and extremely unwelcome, voice from behind them. "But in this case, pretty much wrong."

Heather and Astrid became aware of how seriously screwed they were as Sheen appeared from behind a nearby pile of rocks, her myssteel chain curled around her arms and her face wearing the most menacing smile a human can create. If that wasn't bad enough, men and women began emerging from their hiding spots all along the inactive platforms, some jumping down from the platforms themselves. They encircled Heather and Astrid as any good spectating mob would, many of them brandishing swords and clubs while a few of them held loaded crossbows at the ready. Some muttered crude comments about Heather concerning her lack of loyalty, but most didn't seem too upset. In fact, they acted like a long-awaited sports event was about to begin.

Astrid counted a good two-dozen troops surrounding them. That should've been more than enough to take down the two of them, but then someone went and blew a curled horn, the low rumbling call reverberating through the rows of platforms. More voices and more running feet signaled the arrival of more troops, emerging from other parts of the landing zone and a few nearby buildings. It was hard to get an accurate count through all the obstruction, but the numbers had to be at least four or five-dozen now.

While the rest of her minions held their place, Sheen strode confidentially forward, almost within chain-striking distance. Telling herself that Sheen was a lot less scary than any giant dragon or steel demon (and not feeling any less scared), Astrid gripped her axe and stood off against Sheen, Heather at her back and watching the rest of the crowd. Heather might be able to warn Astrid of incoming danger, but she wasn't carrying any weapons of her own. Then again, does it matter when you're _this_ outnumbered?

"Heather, Heather," mocked Sheen. "You had me going for a time. I actually thought you were just a boot-licker. But here you are, doing exactly what I hoped you'd be doing – giving me a reason."

"Right, Sheen," shot back Heather. "Like you needed one."

"But I did need one. I promised the Alchemist that I wouldn't touch a hair on the prisoner's head, but she made an exception for serious escape attempts. I didn't think it was ever going to happen, not on the Alchemist's watch, but then we had our little dust-up this morning and it got me a-thinking as I was strolling down to the docks to board the armada. You seemed very upset, Heather. Very upset about what I showed Astrid. More upset than any guard should feel toward their prisoner. My gut told me something was up with you. So I decided that it might be worth it to miss the fireworks this time out if it meant catching the two people I hate most doing something they shouldn't. After all, where else could you go to escape off this island but here?" She was rather pleased at her deductive reasoning, her smile getting more and more smug as she continued her villainous monologue.

"And lo and behold, look where we are," continued Sheen. "It helps to have sweet-talked the rest of the guards into becoming my witnesses to my defense when I explain myself to the Alchemist. And in exchange, I supply the entertainment – me killing you two."

Astrid readied her axe for throwing, preparing to send it right between Sheen's gloating eyes. "We may go down, Sheen," she threatened, "but you'll go down with us. That I promise."

Sheen wasn't impressed. Seriously, why would she be? She had such an upper hand here that the height from Sheen's position could give you vertigo. And as Sheen began to swing her chain around in anticipation of combat, the crowd's excitement growing with each rotation, Astrid felt that same terrible finality from days before begin to return. Certain death, which she had sidestepped in the past, was now here to claim her for real, and right before the gates to freedom, as if death was dangling the idea in front of her to increase the torment.

It wasn't all bad, though. Death was wearing Sheen's face this time, but at least it gave Astrid a face to rearrange before it was all over.


	10. The Inherent Dangers Of Underestimating

**Chapter Nine: The Inherent Dangers of Underestimating**

The patch of mist in the distance stood out against the sea like a gray stain on a blue tablecloth. It didn't even match the white billowy nature of the other fog in the area, the clouds that kept to the horizon and clear of the immediate ocean. It was almost as bad as painting a giant sign that said _Obvious Hiding Spot Is Obvious_.

Riding upon Dark Star, the Alchemist kept to the vanguard of the fleet, the flying ships maintaining formation as they approached the mist. The sides of the hulls were dotted with octagon-shaped holes, the openings to the siege cannons outfitted to each warship. One on one, the _Zenith_ easily outmatched any single vessel. It could even defeat two of them if pressed, though not without serious damage. But seven of them? Not even the _Zenith _stood a chance.

With her armband, the Alchemist signaled her captains to adopt flanking positions around the false cloud. The ships flowed through the air as quietly as mute seagulls, encircling the mist from above, presenting their flanks to allow for mutual broadsides. One order from the Alchemist and the armada would rain stony destruction upon the traitorous men hiding in the manufactured fog. Even though their target could not be seen through the thick water vapor, the fog could not stop a single pebble from penetrating inside, much less magic-propelled boulders.

Dark Star hovered above the far edge of the mist, so close that the dragon's feet could've touch the surface, had the mist a surface to touch. In the past, the Alchemist had sent emissaries to coerce ship crews into surrender. But it was safe to assume that anyone who entered the fog while the _Zenith _remained at full power would not come out again. Today was not a day to avoid unnecessary violence. All violence today would be quite necessary.

_Captain Baxter_, _fire first volley, _she ordered telepathically.

Seconds later, a roar erupted from one of the ships as two-dozen rocks blasted from its side, the projectiles entering the fog and soon swallowed up as if nothing had passed inside. A series of watery impacts resounded, though no explosions or harder sounds suggesting a successful hit on the _Zenith._ Not an unexpected result. It would take a few volleys to find the ship's position. This first volley was more a warning than an attack.

"Hear me, crew of the _Zenith,_" she shouted, her voice carrying downward and at ten times her normal speaking volume. One more device in her arsenal, a speaking device she had attached to Dark Star's underside yesterday. It was designed to project her voice to those below the dragon, a new means of intimidation from above. Today was its trial run.

"You have my ship, and I mean to either reclaim it or destroy it. You know me and my power, so this is not an idle threat. If you stand down now, I promise that I will fairly judge you and your actions, though I promise no clemency. If you don't, if you force me to act, then the sea that you travel upon will swallow you, each and every last one of you."

She waited for a reply, whether a feeble request for mercy from a panicked sailor or a projectile. The siege cannons on the _Zenith_ couldn't angle high enough to attack airborne targets, but there were a few ballistae on board, along with archers armed with myssteel arrows. Fear often made the undisciplined strike out blindly. But for now, everything remained calm. No attacks came forth from out of the mist.

"Cervantes, here me," she shouted. "I know you are in control. You failed in your assassination attempt, for I live and still command forces far greater than you. I misjudged you, but now I hold no illusions. You are cunning, but not cunning enough. If you abandon my ship now, if you fly away or sink into the ocean and forever leave my presence, I will take the high road and not pursue vengeance. You know of my priorities – you are but a distant one. Leave, and you will live to see tomorrow. Otherwise, I will destroy you, no matter what power you wield or what form you take."

She expected a response this time. Cervantes's ego would demand a response, if only to shout out a denial or an insult. But the necromancer did not rise to the bait. He was playing this hiding-in-the-mist strategy to the fullest, despite how pitifully ineffective it was. Perhaps she had overestimated his intelligence all this time.

"I will not give any of you long to decide," she declared to the mist. "You have until the count of ten. If you do not respond with immediate surrender, all my ships will open fire."

She started a slow countdown, hoping to make the people below stew in horrid expectation. She did not expect Cervantes to comply, but maybe her old subordinates would mutiny again, this time in the name of the Alchemist. It would not spare them their punishment – she expected to be forced to rid herself of most of her former shipmates, as their loyalties were too easily swayed – but it would go a long way in staying her wrath.

She got down to four, and still not response. Poor Cervantes. He was going to go down like a cornered sea-rat. To think she had seen such potential within him before.

The word _One!_ echoed into the fog, and as she paused for heavy effect, a frantic voice came up out of the mist. Two voices, in fact, pleading for surrender and mercy. Two voices, out of dozens. They went on and on with their pathetic cries, and yet no other voices joined in. None of their fellow crewmembers were attempting to silence them, either. Surely Cervantes would disapprove of such outbursts.

Did Cervantes leave at some point, his crew purged or reduced to a handful of subservient lackeys? Was the _Zenith_ nothing more than a ghost ship, heading back home with only a few desperate souls on board? If so, then the ship would be easy to retake. Perhaps a battle was unneeded. It would make the whole affair somewhat unsatisfying, what with no Cervantes to wreck injury upon, but she could live with the tradeoff.

"Turn off the mist generator and prepare to be boarded," her voice boomed. She had Dark Star fly off to a safe distance while they awaited the fog dissipation, in case this turned out to be a last-ditch attempt at doing something dastardly.

The swirling mist soon shrank in thickness and size, becoming transparent and nonexistent as the water vapor receded into the atmosphere from whence it came. What remained in its place elicited a chorus of alarmed thoughts from Dark Star's mind, as well as the Alchemist's. Her captains communicated utter dismay, and she couldn't blame them for feeling as they did. She had reached the wrong conclusions about Cervantes, very wrong conclusions indeed.

The _Zenith_ was nowhere to be seen. In its stead was a Hunter platform bobbing up and down in the unsettled ocean, kept afloat by its mystical properties. The crew section had only two men aboard, one of them desperately waving a white flag and both of them doing their best to show that they absolutely did not want a fight.

In the center of the platform was an ovoid contraption composed of numerous steel tubes and flashy stones, where wisps of water vapor could be seen exiting the tubes just before fading into nothing. The contraption took up most of the crew section, the two men barely able to move around the platform without tripping over part of the device. It had not been designed to fit on such a small vessel, but Cervantes had made it work regardless.

The mist generator. Cervantes had extracted it from the _Zenith_ and installed it on another Hunter platform. Two volunteers had gone with it to man the device and move it toward Sanctuary in one of the best diversion plans the Alchemist had ever witnessed in action.

As the reality of the plan hit home, the Alchemist's mind whirled with the implications. Cervantes had learned how to use her technology. There was only one way he could've learned that. Worse of all, he had purposefully lured her armada away from Sanctuary because he _knew_ what the really important target was all along.

His real target was back home.

_All ships, return to base!_ she thought into her armband, _All ships, return to base, top speed. Our base is under attack!_ She practically screamed out her commands to Dark Star as the dragon spun around and zoomed at top speed back toward Sanctuary Island. For the first time in days, she felt full-on panic, fear suddenly gripping her like an angry octopus. She ignored any pretense of armada discipline and formation, Dark Star speeding ahead of the fleet as the ships maneuvered to follow. The ships would not be any help now – they would reach Sanctuary far too late to do any good. Cervantes's ruse had done its job all too well.

But she would get home in time… though perhaps only in time to see everything she had worked for come apart.

* * *

Air-surfing high above the ocean, cloaked in his traditional Shroud and reduced to a nigh-invisible spec amidst the grandeur of the heavens, Arc watched the Alchemist and her fleet frantically change course back toward Sanctuary Island, shaking his head at what he would consider a rookie mistake by the Alchemist. It hadn't shocked him that the surprise lying at the bottom of the false mist was a clever feint, though it did mean that Cervantes understood the Alchemist's technology at a better level than Arc had expected. Cervantes had many qualities - quick learner, expert deceiver, and amoral monster – but predictable was not among them.

He shouldn't feel pleasure at seeing the Alchemist hoodwinked, but after having taken three centuries to finally take down the necromancer (and not without much assistance and almost dying twice) seeing one of the smartest humans on the planets fall victim to his tactics did foster a low amount of spiteful gratification.

But all that paled to the implication that Cervantes was undoubtedly attacking Sanctuary Island, a fear bolstered by Dark Star rushing off ahead of the fleet. The others needed his help, if not already from Cervantes, then soon from the Alchemist. The fleet had taken over an hour to get this far out to sea, so it would take an equal length of time to return. But Dark Star would be back in far less time. Arc would never keep up with the half-metal Night Fury, but he wouldn't be too far behind. Qiao and the others would have to take care of themselves until then.

His strong wings batted the air as he veered back toward Sanctuary, putting on as much speed as his draconian frame could sustain. He kept his thoughts on getting to his friends as quickly as possible and avoiding the terrible temptation to contemplate how much power Cervantes now wielded, or how painfully Qiao and the others would suffer if the necromancer got to them before Arc.

* * *

Sanctuary Base was occupied with brewing excitement, what with the major throw down occurring at the platform-landing zone. Almost everyone still conscious at the time had their eyes set on the insanity happening at ground level and not on the sky. So no one saw the approaching cloud that resembled a very big warship that had forgotten that ships were suppose to sail on water only.

With the crewmen at their posts, the cannons at the ready, and several squads of troops poised to repel boarders if need be, Cervantes stood on the bow of the ship and hummed an old sailor ditty in his broken, metallic voice. He was the self-appointed sentry for now, as he was the only one on the ship that could see through the illusion-field covering the base. Special Guardian eyes that could see through mystical emanations and all that. Once the _Zenith_ passed through the illusion, the regular watchmen could do their jobs again, freeing him for the actual important work.

Below and straight ahead, the extinct caldera beckoned to Cervantes as if it was speaking with its mouth open, teasing him with the toy-like buildings at its center, thrilling him with the appearance of the alien tower standing amongst the more pedestrians structures. Best of all, there were no signs of awareness from the various souls that moved down below, though there did seem to be a gathering around the Hunter platforms. He'd have to keep an eye on that.

But so far, so good. The tower, his true objective, remained undefended. Perfect.

Well, _perfect_ was a stretch. Nothing about this plan was perfect. He had made a few assumptions and, yes, they had turned out as assumed, but the next part of this operation required that he understood the Alchemist as well as he thought he did. If he was wrong, he and everyone on the ship had very limited life spans.

The crew still believed his lies, which was a good thing. They believed the Alchemist was still dead and that victory was a possibility. They had bought the idea that the messages coming in from the Conduit Capacitor were deceptions. He had promoted the idea at every turn. He'd even come close to falling for the lies as well. Life would be so much easier if she was dead and drowned in the Repository.

While he wanted to believe it, he couldn't _assume_ it. So he prepared for the possibility. He had learned everything he needed to: about the Catalyszier, about the mist generator, about the ship's expertly concealed ability to defy gravity. And after watching the Alchemist's armada fly away to pursue his decoy, the _Zenith_ safely hidden in a cloudbank off the opposite side of the island, he thanked the Void that he had always operated on the principle of hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.

The worst was on its way back here, though. The worst was coming his way.

Even then, he kept the ship flying at half-speed. There was no rush. He _needed _the Alchemist now. He needed her to see what he was going to do. He needed her to see how serious he was. And it wouldn't be good to alarm the pitiful staff inside the base too early and have them attack him and make things more difficult. This was a plan built on patience, because no other plan would work against She-Who-Brings-The-Thunder.

Not the best nickname for the Alchemist, but he still had time to think of a better one before she arrived.

* * *

Cragfist stood near the skeletal body of his captain/master/monstrosity, not yet over the awe that came with his first flight through the sky but quickly getting there. Even this first-time experience in the clouds did little to soothe his tortured spirit, for the end-result of his actions and failures was about to come to pass. He was technically attached to an assault team charged with keeping the bow section of the ship safe from unwanted occupants, but he wasn't sure he would even lift a finger if it came to that.

The Alchemist lived. He knew this. He hadn't believed Cervantes for one second. The necromancer was a liar at heart with no honor, and he knew him too well to fall for the false-message angle. She had somehow survived and was now trying to reclaim the ship. The other men thought it was just the rank-and-file soldiers they had to deal with. The other men murmured and talked of actual victory. If they ever realized the truth, the ensuing panic and mutiny would cripple the ship. That was why Cragfist had kept his mouth shut… other than the fact that he didn't really care.

Cervantes was quite powerful, he had to admit. He was quite sure of himself as well, though that and a cooked fish would only feed you for a day. It was possible that the necromancer could emerge the victor in all this, but even if he did, it changed nothing for the dispirited Viking. He would continue to be a puppet and a disgrace to the Gunnarr name.

Yet there was one thing that kept him going, and it involved the item that he had taken out of Cervantes's quarters and that he had hidden in the recesses of his uniform. Something that both Cervantes and the Alchemist placed importance on, or so Cragfist believed. He wasn't sure if he was fooling himself on this matter, but an opportunity might arise in the future. He didn't think he shared his sister's gift of vision, but he was of the same bloodline, and so it wasn't entirely crazy for him to believe that the ivory cylinder in his possession might contain a secret or two that might take down the Alchemist if given to the right person at the right time.

Insanity to think such things, but it was enough to convince him to keep drawing breath, and that mattered. Besides, maybe he would get lucky and he'd get to watch the Alchemist and Cervantes destroy each other. Wouldn't that just be the best result ever?

* * *

Ignorant of the threat looming in the sky, most of the base personnel were taking wagers on how long the girl with the special axe would last against Sheen and her murderous ways. The average bet was three minutes, the average wager a week's liquor ration.

One group of five men were clustered in the shadow of a platform, hiding behind the secure stone legs of the machine to protect from any wayward axe throws or arrows. This wasn't a competitive brawl – this was a death match, and things got ugly in death matches. They jostled one another for the best _safe_ vantage spot, far enough away from the others that they would hopefully avoid attracting any aggression from the two very angry, very determined women with the myssteel axe and myssteel chain.

Such is the insidious nature of irony, considering that they had chosen a place where another very angry, very determined woman was hiding. Crouching on top of the platform they had hidden behind, she went unnoticed until the crowd began roaring in anticipation of battle, masking her movements as she jumped down behind the unwitting men.

Then they became well aware of her, not that it did them any good.

* * *

Sheen swung her chain around like she was preparing to cast a net, her malice-filled eyes fixed on Astrid. Astrid no longer felt any real intimidation from those evil orbs. She was far too mad now, too far into her own battle demeanor to let this malcontented warrior hold any sway over her. One good axe throw could probably end Sheen right then and there, a brutal tactic for sure, but Sheen had earned such a fate a long time ago. How many people had this miscreant hurt, even killed, over her lifetime? As casual as Sheen acted about killing Astrid and Heather, it had to be more than a few.

But as Sheen kept up the chain swirling, the crowd cheering her on and begging her to unleash the hurting, Astrid realized the whole swirling routine was a fake-out. Months of training under Saga had taught Astrid that the best way to defeat your adversary was to make them do the work for you. Have them strike out in fear, in anger, or in arrogance, and you'll see them coming long before their attack can connect. That gives you the freedom to counter and control the fight.

This chain-swinging show Sheen was putting on might wow the crowd, but it was really for Astrid. Sheen wanted her to take the shot, to make the first move. Sheen's chain was pure myssteel, which meant it could do things normal weapons couldn't, perhaps even change course in midair. If Astrid attacked while Sheen was prepared for it, she would undoubtedly end up wearing that chain around her neck as it squeezed the life from her.

Play for time, then. Let Sheen strike first. It wouldn't take too long, she imagined. Sheen didn't come off as an especially patient person. But every second mattered right now. If they could figure out a way through the crowd…

"Knock me down, Astrid," murmured Heather, her back pressed against Astrid's as she watched the crowd.

Keeping her eye firmly on the chain-wielding psychopath, Astrid whispered with a simple, "What?"

"Knock me down," Heather repeated. "Make it look accidental."

"Why?"

"I have something up my sleeve, but it's going to take a minute to warm up. If they see me doing it, they'll fill me full of crossbow bolts. Knock me down!"

"Great, you've been keeping secrets again, haven't you?" replied Astrid, a bit too loudly. Astrid focused on Sheen again and was glad to see no real change in demeanor. Sheen had seen them talk, but most likely hadn't understood them.

"You two comparing notes or something?" chided Sheen, still whipping her chain in a provocative fashion as she confirmed Astrid's hope. "C'mon, Astrid, where's that vaunted Viking warrior streak everybody hears about? Or are you too put out by your boyfriend's death to muscle up the nerve?" A few calls from the crowd erupted, as if the consensus was Sheen had just zinged Astrid something good.

Astrid saw the goad for what it was and hadn't planned on reacting. Taking into the matter Heather's request, however, a savvy idea sprang into Astrid's mind.

Astrid put on her fiercest face, Astrid forcefully cocked her throwing arm back, yelling out, "May dragons eat all the offspring you'll ever have," a strong insult if you happened to be a Viking living around Berk. Her elbow collided with Heather's back, a blow that might sting but shouldn't do much else. Heather took the cue and fell forward, acting like she'd been clocked on the head by Astrid's weapon. She tripped, went sprawling onto her stomach, and proceeded to moan like the fall had winded her, her right hand pinned under her chest.

The crowd roared at the display of clumsy teamwork, alternately laughing and mocking Astrid. Sheen was so shocked that she dropped her chain and burst out laughing. Astrid tried to not feel mortified at the mocking attention, but her warrior pride still recoiled at the ridicule. Heather better have a really good idea up her sleeve, otherwise she might just knock Heather down for real next time.

"And here I thought this might be a challenge," said Sheen, bringing her chain up into the air again. Then she abruptly altered the spin and sent the chain sailing at Astrid's legs, aiming to further humiliate her before the end.

Astrid easily saw the attack and jumped it, the chain slicing the air below her. She resisted the urge to counter, watching the chain spin a full circle around its master and come back at her for a higher attack. Astrid rolled out of the way with little trouble. The chain whipped at her several more times, each time from a similar direction, and each time Astrid jumped, dodged, or ducked the attack. Sheen was fast with her weapon of choice, but in maintaining its speed it had become predictable.

"Ah, so the Viking has a few moves," said Sheen. She was still enjoying this too much, and while Astrid felt an overpowering desire to smash in Sheen's teeth, her chain gave her too much range. Astrid couldn't get close in, and her instincts told her that a throw would result in her axe going bye-bye.

They might have kept going like this longer if not for Astrid's correct assessment about Sheen: she lacked patience. Sheen swung her chain around as before, but this time reversed direction and snapped it out so that it came in from above. The sudden move caught Astrid off-guard, and she only had time to put her axe out in front of her as a shield. The chain wrapped around the shaft like a snake constricting its next meal, narrowly missing Astrid's hands. Then Sheen yanked mightily at the chain and Astrid blanched at the strength of the pull, just barely keeping her axe in her custody as the chain struggled to extract it from her grip.

Sheen had only one hand on the chain, sneering as she pulled away at Astrid's weapon. She couldn't be that strong - she wasn't any bigger than Astrid – but she somehow kept Astrid stuck where she was, the two of them in a deadly game of tug-of-war with the prize being one myssteel axe. But as Sheen moved her left hand to the other half of the chain and began swinging it like before, Astrid came to realize that the chain was doing all the pulling. That must be its inherent power – it couldn't cut like a blade, but it could entangle like nothing else could. And she'd soon be sending the rest of the chain Astrid's way. Not good with her axe temporarily out of commission.

A warrior was more than her weapon, though. Astrid could handle being unarmed for a time. Could Sheen say the same?

Time to find out.

Before Sheen could react, Astrid ceased her resistance and instead rushed forward, running straight at Sheen. The white-haired psycho seemed flummoxed by the move, and on instinct let loose the back half of her chain right at Astrid. With some freedom gained by the sudden slack in the chain, the young Viking twisted her axe to meet the attack, the rest of the chain wrapping around the shaft, utterly enveloping the wooden handle in silver-hued metal.

Astrid released the axe as she lunged forward, the chain whipping the weapon to the ground as Astrid charged ahead. Sheen's eyes were understandably distressed as she attempted to bring up her chain, but too much of it was attached to the axe, and she was even more distressed when Astrid's right hook found her lower jaw and smacked it into her upper one.

Two more powerful blows later, Sheen released her chain and fell backward to the dirt, barely conscious. Astrid stood over her, puffing with exertion and battle fever. The crowd's attitude shifted very rapidly to silent disbelief at seeing the Alchemist's most feared lieutenant lying inert, moaning in pain.

Astrid turned her fierce gaze on the crowd, who were currently stunned but also extremely numerous. They'd eventually get over the stunning, but they wouldn't stop being numerous.

"Anyone else?" she said defiantly, feeling stupid for saying it but not knowing what else to do. By the Gods, Heather's idea better be good.

"I'll give it a go," said Heather, rising to her feet and wearing a confident smile. "Stand back and take a breather. You're going to like this."

Her harness was now aglow, the central gem in the center bathed in blue arcing electricity. Heather reached out with one hand toward the crowd, like she was grabbing the air before her. That section of the crowd screamed out in surprise, terror, and for a few unlucky souls a bit of pain, as a volley of floating rocks shoved their way through the crowd. The stones sped to Heather and stopped short, spreading out and encircling her like bees swarming to a new home.

She raised her hands in other directions, each time summoning more animated stones to her, each time making life more difficult for more people in the crowd. Astrid watched quietly, back to feeling like life still had some amazing moments left to show her, as the blue energy surging from Heather's harness lifted her into the air to float in the center of the rock storm.

The rocks began forming a shape around Heather, that of a giant with no head and lots of breaks in its torso, its hands mirroring Heather's hands digit for digit. Astrid had forgotten the name of what this thing was called, so it was nice that one of the now-panicking soldiers cried out "Berserker!" to remind her.

To further increase the panic, Heather went and smashed a giant floating fist against the leg of the nearest Hunter, the platform careening over from the impact and sending the crowd around it scattering. The Berserker's feet pounded the dirt as she plowed a path through the encircling throng, the smart ones running aside while the dumb ones got pushed aside by huge rock hands. Heather kept the blows fairly light, though that translated into huge bruises and a few broken bones for those unlucky enough to get clobbered.

Astrid ran to her axe and extracted it from Sheen's chain. With Sheen out of it, the chain was as inert as a normal chain, and she scooped up her prized weapon with relieved glee. Then she saw Sheen sitting up on the ground, sporting rapidly-darkening bruises and looking about as murderous as a beat-up face could get, which is actually pretty frightening.

"KILL THEM!" Sheen screamed.

Sheen's dire command had partial success. The men and women before Heather's unstoppable juggernaut of stone were in no mood or shape to listen, but the others closer to Astrid were feeling braver. Two goons rushed Astrid at once, but found themselves joining Sheen on the ground from an aptly-aimed leg sweep. After smashing another goon's nose with the flat head of her axe and cutting one more guard's club in two, she decided that following Heather was a good idea.

"You said that was a control harness for one of the platforms," yelled out Astrid as she ran right behind Heather, pounding two more goons into submission as she went.

"I said it was a harness," yelled back Heather, bringing up the Berserker's left arm as a shield when a group of archers opened fire with their crossbows. The bolts clinked off hard stone and nothing else. "I just didn't say for what."

"So where's the actual harness we need?" asked Astrid.

Heather pointed a floating hand toward a simple shack down the row of platforms they were battling through. "They keep them in that building. We were heading there before all this happened."

Astrid balked at the prospect of trying to get the real control harness while fighting through dozens of soldiers. The soldiers were beginning to square themselves and close in around them again, using the dormant platforms for cover while the braver souls rushed Astrid from time to time, only to be rewarded with injury and concussions. None of them had myssteel weapons, and their combat training sucked, but they'd wear Astrid and Heather out eventually just through sheer tenacity and numbers.

A group of men made to ambush Astrid from behind a platform, rushing her with belligerent war cries, and Astrid prepared to get vicious with them as they closed in. Much to her surprise… and overwhelming joy… someone beat her to the punch.

Two spinning flashes of silver lashed out of nowhere and severed one of the platform's three legs, toppling it forward and knocking the men to the ground, trapping and pining several of them under the wreckage.

A figure in black-and-red battle fatigues ran around the wreckage and toward Astrid, stopping briefly to plant her boot into the face of one half-buried goon who had spoken an unkind word to her. Astrid felt like crying again, but this time the tears were of the happy kind, because Saga was here in the flesh.

There was an ever-so-brief lull with the two of them standing before each other, Saga's face at war with itself over whether to maintain her stolid persona or gush with wild abandon. Astrid knew there would have been gushing for sure had another band of assailants not approached, forcing Saga to reassert her control. Her eyes grew intense as she addressed Astrid, fully the warrior that Astrid knew all too well.

"Saga?" Astrid managed to blurt out. She was too amazed to say more than that.

"As Nestor would say, explanations later," said Saga. "Keep on this path and follow your ally closely. I will get you through, but it would be helpful if you can increase the number of obstacles in our enemies' path. "

And like that, Saga was gone again, rushing behind another platform, leaving Astrid with a mountain of unasked questions like, for starters, how in the Seven Seas did Saga even get here. But she was okay with not knowing right now, because when one of your best friends routinely predicted the future, having her arrive right when you needed her the most was something you easily accepted.

The manly squeals of dismay coming from behind the closest platform suggested Saga was already hard at work saving her life. Not wanting to waste Saga's efforts, Astrid raced to catch up with Heather, traveling close behind as her friend plowed the road.

"Please tell me the scary-looking lady you were talking to just then is on our side," said Heather in a worried tone. She had slowed down to wait for Astrid and must have seen Saga show up. The post-battle conversations were going to be very long indeed.

"She is," said Astrid excitedly. "Heather, my friend, I think we might survive this after all."

* * *

Linebreaker held the harness on his fingertips like it was a dead rat. Despite the colorful gem in the middle, it was a fashion disaster for anyone who wore it. Not a surprise, considering how gauche the uniforms he'd seen around the base were. Did the Alchemist not believe in good taste?

Qiao was busy securing the prone bodies of two incapacitated guards, victims of Qiao's curiosity. The one-story shack they had dragged the two guards into was an anomaly amongst the neat rows of war machines nearby, and outside of racks of uninspiring harnesses it had little else to speak of. Then again, the racks were plenty, filling up almost every available square foot of space inside the shack. They had to be control harnesses for the platforms, each one attuned to a specific war machine. Typical Alche efficiency, right down to a numbering system on each harness that matched a numbered platform.

"Do I just put it on and hope it doesn't turn me inside out?" asked Linebreaker.

Lingering at the doorway and playing the lookout, Qiao shrugged. "I don't know much about them, Captain. But if it's anything like the other harnesses I've seen Alche work with, you have to touch the center gem and then wave your arms around to get it working."

Linebreaker shook his head in dismay. "My stomach's already in knots just thinking about flying again. You sure you wouldn't be better suited for this task?"

"Take a breath, Linebreaker," reassured Qiao. "These platforms move as smooth as ice… well, flying slabs of ice."

"And I'm supposed to know how to drive a flying slab of ice?"

"Stop freaking on me already. You have time to learn before…"

Qiao abandoned the rest of the sentence as soon as she heard the uproar coming from the landed platforms. Qiao started as people emerged from their hiding spots amidst the platforms. More came running moments later, and Qiao instantly prepared Dragon Fire for battle, its energy strings tensing in her grip. She relaxed somewhat after realizing the gathering crowd was converging inside the platform rows and not heading their way, but she kept her bow at the ready. She couldn't see much of the festivities, but the nature of the yells she heard suggested a sporting event of some sort.

Linebreaker came to the doorway, attaching the harness as he walked. He saw the gathering and groaned. "Now we know where everyone's been hiding, though their choice of locale leaves something to be desired."

Qiao nodded grimly. "We just ran out of time, didn't we?"

She was troubled at how badly she missed all the people in hiding. She was so focused on keeping herself and Linebreaker in the shadows that she didn't think anyone else had any crazy plans in motion. She had taken the long way to the landing zone, which in retrospect was still a good move as they had sidestepped this impromptu party so effectively that neither of them had picked up on anything amiss amongst the rows of platforms. The two guards in front of the nondescript shack on the far side of the zone were hardly an issue, mostly tipping off Qiao to investigate the shack. It is common thief knowledge that something guarded is something worth checking out.

"How do we secure a platform now?" asked Linebreaker.

Qiao had an unhelpful quip on her tongue, but she lost it when a temporarily shift in the crowd showed a trio of combatants deeper in the throng. It was a fight contest, apparently, but the shocking part of the reveal was the blond-haired girl with the wicked axe. Qiao recognized her immediately and had to stifle a delighted squeal with her free hand.

"Astrid!" she said, grabbing onto Linebreaker's shirt and jumping up and down excitedly. "She's alive, she's alive, she's alive! And here I was doubting Saga's sanity!"

"Happy day, indeed," said Linebreaker, laughing while riding out Qiao's giddy jumping spree.

The jumping ceased once Qiao examined the situation more closely. "Oh, she's alive, but maybe not for much longer. I better get out there. Captain, it's up to you to get us a ride. I know you'll pull it off… because otherwise we'll probably all die."

Linebreaker watched Qiao run out of the shack and off to the shadows, where she disappeared amongst the grounded Hunters. "No pressure or anything," commented Linebreaker sourly.

He stood in the doorway as he brainstormed his options, listening to the rising and falling of the crowd's enthusiasm as the battle commenced. He knew the Hunters were controlled by arm gestures, but which ones done which way? Did he need to be on the platform to make it work? More to the point, how was he supposed to identify the right platform that went with the harness he wore? He couldn't go searching for it with the crowd right there. He'd be spotted almost immediately.

Maybe if he turned on the harness first, one of the platforms would give a reaction, light up or start floating. He settled on that idea. It'd better react very strongly if he was going to see it against all the other identical platforms.

He pushed on the gem in his harness and was pleased to see it start to glow red, gaining strength as the seconds ticked by. He then watched the rows of platforms and was overjoyed to see that Lady Luck still liked him, for one platform was beginning to straighten its legs to a standing position, as if preparing to go for a stroll. Best of all, it was several rows away from the crowd. If he was quick, they wouldn't spot it until he'd had a chance to work with it.

"Success!" he said, throwing his fists into the air in triumphant… which then caused the platform to veer off to the side, its legs scraping the ground as it careened into a parked platform in another row. One horrendous crash later, the two platforms were flipping over one another, their legs entwining briefly and then breaking away completely. The remains smashed into a third platform before coming to a rest, leaving a trail of broken parts across three separate rows and a mess of twisted stone that used to be three sophisticated war machines.

Linebreaker froze in place, awaiting a swift reaction from the crowd. But Lady Luck remained in love with him, because some turn of event within the circle of goons kept them from witnessing, or even hearing, the mortifying accident. In fact, the crowd appeared to be dispersing as a floating pile of rocks with legs started busting its way free of the crowd. Hopefully this was a good thing.

With no other options at his disposal, Linebreaker calmly took off his current harness, which had ceased glowing about the time the Hunter had its accident, and reached to pull a new one off the nearest rack. Good thing he had plenty of spares to work with – it was time that he had precious little of.

* * *

Astrid stuck to Heather like sap on a shirt, keeping at bay any brave soldiers with her fists, feet, and axe while the Berserker suit forged at trail toward the simple shack in the distance. Arrows and bolts struck out on occasion, almost all of them aimed at Heather, but her protective armor blocked them from penetrating. The Berserker was like a walking mountain, an irresistible force made up of immovable objects. Heather piloted it extremely well, a fact she had never mentioned to Astrid during the planning stage of their escape. Old habits died hard, it seemed.

Astrid caught glimpses of Saga running around in the background, usually followed by sounds of pain and terror and armed men fleeing for their lives. Thanks to Saga, the influx of goons attacking Astrid was manageable.

Heather moved through a vacant spot in the nearest row and put on speed, intent on making the shack before the guards could regroup. Alas, this proved an impossible dream as she was greeted with eight soldiers clustered together, their bows rising for a joint attack, their arrowheads shinning with that special myssteel gleam. Somebody had finally broken out the myssteel arrows, and Astrid feared that Heather's stone suit wouldn't provide enough cover. There was no way she could dodge out of the way, either.

One arrow flew first, but it didn't belong to the gathered archers. Composed mostly of hardened energy of an unknown quality, the arrow stuck into the ground ahead of the archers, distracting them for a brief moment before it melted into the dirt below it, the energy merging with the earth.

The earth then exploded in their faces, showering them in grit, launching the closest ones in the air and knocking the rest down. When the air cleared, the archers were clearly down for the count, and Heather stepped over them without slowing.

Astrid felt a new burst of giddiness when she traced the arrow's path back to its source. There was Qiao on the far end of the row, waving from atop a Hunter she had climbed onto, looking very smug and very relived at the same time. She mouthed something Astrid couldn't hear and waved at the shack. She was probably trying to tell her and Heather where to go, a helpful but unnecessary gesture.

Qiao let loose several more arrows, each one targeting the leg of a platform, each one exploding the leg below the joint into fractured fragments. The targeted platforms teetered and then toppled, some onto other platforms, others onto the ground. She was creating quite the mess, the chaos blocking pursuit from their flanks.

One platform did something unexpected, flying straight into the air, flipping around like it was performing a cartwheel, then slamming hard into the ground again, breaking off all thee legs in the process. When Astrid looked at Qiao for an explanation, Qiao only shrugged, though with a great smile on her face. She loved this way too much.

Qiao's happy disposition abruptly took a hit, along with her left shoulder, as something clipped her. Qiao cried out in pain and fell backward onto the platform, clutching her shoulder.

Astrid whirled around to find the culprit, as the shot came from behind. She found her, along with a dozen others, sprinting Astrid's direction. At the forefront was Sheen, a bitter grimace on her face, her chain wrapped around her torso as her hands were busy with a crossbow. She was yelling something harsh in a language Astrid couldn't decipher, which was for the best. It was doubtful she was saying anything kind.

Astrid flung her axe at the leg of the closest Hunter, her precise throw cleaving the leg at the joint and destabilizing it. The platform leaned over and then fell across the path behind her. Once her axe returned to her hand, Astrid switched targets and did the same to another platform on the opposite side, the Hunter collapsing as expected. Together, the wrecked machines blocked most of the row behind her, obscuring line of sight for opportunistic archers.

Saga rejoined Astrid after putting down two more guards, gesturing at Qiao's location. Already one step ahead, Astrid ran up to the platform and yelled up at Qiao, Heather halting her progression to act as cover. The thief managed to get back on her feet, her left arm sporting a spreading red blotch on her shirt. She tossed her bow to Astrid and then carefully jumped to the ground, wincing as she made impact.

"Stupid lucky shot," Qiao commented as Astrid gave her back the bow. "It's only a graze, thank the stars, but my aim's going to be lousy." Then she smiled mischievously at Astrid. "So, what's new with you?"

First Saga, then Qiao. Astrid was so delighted with her friends' arrival that she would've laughed if not for Saga's super-serious face.

"Save the heartfelt greetings for later," Saga ordered. "Qiao, does Linebreaker have transportation?"

Motion from above prevented Qiao from answering, as something new had now entered the picture. Astrid felt a winter chill pass over her, not from the weather changing or the wind suddenly picking up but from the realization that circumstances had just gotten worse for all of them.

* * *

The sun ceased to exist for a time as a large object came between it and the combatants gathered below. All eyes looked upon the _Zenith_ flying into the base proper, gliding smoothly and soundlessly toward the mutated-starfish tower in the center of the island. It took its sweet time about it, as if enjoying the terror it was creating below. Many of the guards decided that enough was enough and fled for the buildings where they knew safe rooms had been constructed in case of a disaster or invasion. Others just stood in place, paralyzed by indecision and fear, hoping to be overlooked should the vessel's siege cannons come into play.

The only consensus for those witnessing the return of the _Zenith_ was that this was not good. The Alchemist was not in control, for the other ships in the armada would have arrived with the flagship or else the Alchemist would have sent word ahead of its arrival. This ship meant harm to those below it, and there was little anyone could do to stop it.

For Astrid, Saga, Qiao, and Heather, stopping the ship wasn't on today's itinerary. Getting away from it was, and that was the tricky part considering they had no dragons or ships at their disposal. The soldiers that had once stood in their way were now picking themselves off the ground and running for cover, forgetting all about the intruders and traitors and escaped prisoners in their midst. With the shock of the _Zenith's _arrival wearing off, Saga made to repeat her question to Qiao on Linebreaker's progress. The answer she received did not come from Qiao.

A Hunter platform suddenly flew into view, dancing drunkenly in the air just above their heads, dangerously close to the ground and to them. Saga readied her daggers for action and Heather stepped to the forefront, preparing to shield the others with the Berserker if need be. Neither precaution was needed, for just as the platform made to crash down on its side, it lifted up at the last moment and planted its legs on the ground instead, turning the crash landing into merely a bad one. The struts dug sizeable rents in the dirt as the platform came to a stop, almost toppling in the process.

"I think our ride's here," said Astrid, amazed at the constant turning of events around her and just deciding to go with it.

Linebreaker came running around the Hunter as the platform's struts bent at the joint, dipping the central platform down to near ground level. Frazzled as he hadn't been since the time powdered wigs became a passing fad in Riki Poka, his laugh of greeting was less jovial and more sarcastic.

"Personally, I think a flying slab of ice would be easier to control," he said to Qiao.

"He's with us, I take it?" said Heather. "You guys are just coming out of the woodwork." She began moving her arms as if pushing the air around her outward. The rocks forming the Berserker began to lose their humanoid formation and moved away from Heather, creating a circle of motionless stone hovering just about the ground. Then she dropped her hands, the rocks dropping simultaneously and lifelessly to the dirt, the energy that held them aloft fading away until the stones were back to their usual stationary lifestyle.

Saga scrutinized Heather for a moment, then switched her gaze to the Hunter and gave it a far more distrustful stare. "Is this… safe?"

"How would I know?" said Linebreaker. "I'm just glad I didn't crash it. I guess the fifth time's the charm."

"Does it matter at this stage?" said Qiao, nursing her shoulder and watching the _Zenith_ make its way across the sky. "I really want to get out of here, don't you guys?"

Saga might have agreed more readily if she hadn't watched Linebreaker's flying skill in action. She turned to Linebreaker and said, "Are you comfortable with piloting further?"

"Nooo!" declared Linebreaker. "But who else can do it?"

"Heather?" asked Astrid. "Can't you…?"

"Yeah, about that," said Heather sheepishly, stepping out of the newly formed rock circle. "I… really didn't spend any time practicing."

Astrid thought her eyes were going to pop out of her sockets. "WHAT?"

"I thought it was the same as controlling a Berserker, which was what I _did_ learn to control," Heather said, her tone apologetic. "It was easier to get time on a Berserker than a Hunter. But after watching your friend here, I think I might have assumed too much."

Astrid shook her head in disbelief. "You think?"

"So it's me, then?" said Linebreaker woefully.

"It is you, then," said Saga. "Unless you want to ask _that _for a ride." She thumbed up at the _Zenith, _the ship coming to a halt directly above the crystal tower, hovering like a gargantuan foot poised for an epic bout of stomping.

Linebreaker gave the ominous ship a quick glance and then groaned in resignation. "Did I mention that I hate flying?"

* * *

The platform's safety railing got a lot of use that day as Linebreaker lifted himself and his friends towards the sky. He stood as Heather instructed, in the center of the platform, while everyone else clung tenaciously to the railing with both hands. Linebreaker sweated profusely while keeping his arm and hand movements as gentle and smooth as possible. Truly, if he ever met the Alchemist in person again, he would have words with her on her choice in control schemes.

The platform jerked at times, occasionally threatening to go ninety degrees and flip over or dump its passengers to their deaths, but Linebreaker managed to even the flight out each time. Standing at the platform's center did seem to help orient him, though having to keep his arms out all the time and his movements deliberate was proving a strain. What was he supposed to do if his nose itched? Ask one of the pretty ladies on board to scratch it?

Well, that didn't sound too bad, actually.

With a little help from Heather and her more in-depth knowledge of control harnesses, Linebreaker guided the platform away from the landing zone and over the tops of the buildings, keeping the altitude low to escape the attention of the _Zenith._ On that regard, they succeeded, for the vessel made no effort to strike them down. On the other hand, they did get attention from some of the guards below, mostly in terms of shouts and pointed fingers. Astrid swore she saw Sheen looking at them with utter hatred, the white-haired woman undoubtedly swearing to hunt them down like people of her vile nature liked to do.

Most of the guards fled to shelter when the massive warship above their home finally opened fire with its cannons. A chorus of explosions and violent crashes rang out behind the team as they cleared the illusion-field, the base abruptly transforming into a deserted mountainside, the ocean wind sweeping back into their lives and replacing the echoes of battle. The sea greeted their return to the open sky with hundreds of frothing waves, the air smelling good and briny again. Best of all, no airborne menaces and no signs of pursuit.

For the time being, it seemed like the world was perfectly normal once more… if you didn't count the flying mystical platform they were riding on. If they could only meet up with Arc now, their escape would be a complete success.

* * *

Had Arc believed in gods that controlled the sunshine and rain of the world, he might have cursed them, for they were not being at all helpful.

A fast-moving patch of clouds had moved in while Arc had been following the Alchemist and her Night Fury minion, clouds thick enough to obscure the naked eye but not wet enough to drop moisture. Not a real obstacle for an experienced flyer like Arc, but it did prove troublesome when Dark Star opted to fly into the clouds instead of above, below, or around them. Already on his way to losing sight of them as Dark Star outpaced the old Thunderchild, she disappeared entirely upon contact with the weather pattern.

Arc used an old Hyperion colorful metaphor to describe how little he appreciated the situation. Then he altered his trajectory so that he would skim just above the clouds, keeping his eyes open for any half-formed shapes that resembled anything hostile. He wasn't sure what to expect from either the Alchemist or Cervantes, but he been unpleasantly surprised by both of them in the past.

With the sea blanking out in favor of a field of fluffy-gray blankness, Arc found himself realizing how much he'd come to depend on Nestor and his circle of friends. They supplied extras eyes for spotting trouble, extra mouths for discussing inane but harmless subjects, extra ears for listening (and often ignoring) his inexhaustible wisdom, and extra minds for coming up with new ideas (even if most of them were stupid). He even missed carrying around Nestor – at least he knew where the boy was when he was clinging to his spinal ridges.

He worried about Nestor all the time these days. The boy could handle himself, of this Arc had no doubt, but he was still only human, and a young one at that. Arc had shown him so many wonders and dangers, so many delights and horrors, that there was no chance that Nestor would ever play it safe and keep out of trouble. He'd be compelled to do the right thing - save the day, rescue the damsel, destroy the evil, whatever you wanted to call it.

Thanks to Arc, Nestor could survive being a hero for a time, but heroes had a tendency to get killed. Someday, Nestor would face something his barrier would not protect him from, and that would be the end of the boy named Nestor.

And what will the dragon named Arc do without his boy?

He rolled his eyes reflexively, this time at his own bothersome thoughts. He knew Nestor was okay – he'd know otherwise in an instant. It was pointless to fret when he had more pressing concerns. Perhaps a game of cloud watching would soothe his mind, a game he played on long flights in the past before he had found companionship with Nestor. He could start with the one near him, the cloud that resembled a big rock…

Much to his vexation, Arc realized a split-second too late that the rock-shaped cloud coming at him from below had no cloud parts to it. The boulder-sized projectile flew at him with unnatural precision, and Arc managed to roll partly out of the way to prevent a direct hit. He cried out as the rock clipped his belly, snagging several of his outer scales and knocking him off his flight path.

Another shape emerged from the cloudbank below him, accompanied by a pair of flying boulders that were somehow keeping formation when they had no natural means to do so. Dark Star glared up at Arc, her one natural eye and one red artificial eye conveying pure disdain. The Alchemist stood atop her steed, raising her hands and guiding the two boulders as they flew along. The boulders glistened with moisture, and since Sanctuary Island remained miles ahead, Arc concluded that the Alchemist had plucked these rocks from the seafloor, using the clouds as cover. She didn't have the same hate-filled look as her steed, nor was there any shock or surprise at seeing Arc above her. These two must have detected his pursuit and doubled back to take him out.

Arc raised his hand to fire off a lightning blast, but the Alchemist was already letting fly with her boulders. Arc's blast caught one boulder in mid-flight, the current scorching the stone but not stopping it, though the impact of the blast altered its flight so that it missed. Arc was not so fortunate with the other boulder. He tried to veer off, but he only succeeded in exposing his back to the projectile. It collided into his back, right between his wings, a wave of agony enveloping him, his wings freezing up almost instantly.

He fought to stay alert as he stalled and went into a diving spiral, the pain washing over him like the surf of a lake made of acid. She had hit him on a sensitive spot, a muscle that most dragons had that could seize up when enough pressure was applied, temporarily robbing a dragon of its ability to fly. An Achilles' Heel of sorts, one that almost no human knew about. One more unpleasant surprise, courtesy of the Alchemist.

"I'd stay to ensure your demise, Hyperion," yelled out the Alchemist from above him as Arc began to lose altitude, "but I have other concerns. Consider this payback for Dark Star."

Arc had a brief moment to darkly wish Cervantes and the Alchemist the best of luck in destroying one another before the agony swallowed up Arc's mind, the clouds swallowing up the rest of him, as he fell towards the deep blue sea below.


	11. A Few Minutes Of Your Time

**Chapter Ten: A Few Minutes Of Your Time**

After her quick detour to deal with the troublesome Hyperion, the Alchemist commanded Dark Star to resume their homeward flight. She didn't bother to confirm the Thunderchild's demise because it honestly didn't matter to her at the time. If he survived the fall somehow, she'd deal with him later. If not, then one less problem in the world.

Arc was one of two distractions the Alchemist had to put aside as she returned home. The second arrived as Dark Star approached the outskirts of Sanctuary Island, the Alchemist spotting one of her Hunters leaving the perimeter of the illusion field. No Hunter was supposed to fly without her say-so, so this was at the very least a serious rule violation.

Then again, perhaps the crew on the joy-riding platform had a reason to leave the base. Perhaps the base was already under siege and these were survivors or cowards fleeing the battle.

Dark Star could've easily overtaken the platform, even destroyed it with a negative-energy blast, but that would take time the Alchemist no longer had. One way or another, she'd recover the platform and question the crew. For now, they could live with their cowardice.

She never got close enough to identify who was flying the platform. If she had… well, who can say?

Dark Star blew right through the illusion field, the world shifting from a mountain to a volcanic basin in an instant. Like the rest of her war machines, Dark Star could pass through the semi-solid field without encountering any physical resistance, a brief hole opening and closing in the blink of an eye. Without that feature, Dark Star would've crashed through the field, which at these speeds would not do the dear dragon's fleshy parts any favors.

The mountain winked out of existence, replaced by the familiar layout of her base of operations, the home she'd known for almost four years since moving out of her underground bunker. To some degree, the _Zenith_ had proven to be a second home, considering how much time she had spent aboard it, acquiring supplies and doing recruitment runs. Thus it was quite distressing to see one home blowing the crud out of the other.

The _Zenith _currently floated over the Omega Catalyszier, situated between the long crystalline arms and so close to the structure that you could stand on the stern of the ship and touch the smooth surface with your bare hands. Occasional projectiles ejected from the eye-shaped holes lining the hull of the ship, fast-moving rocks that plowed into a building here, a building there, creating gaping holes and puffs of dust and smoke that clouded the air around the tower. There were no coordinated volleys – the attacks appeared to be gunner's discretion, not for destroying but for sowing chaos below.

A savvy move by Cervantes. Any counterattack carried the risk of hitting the Omega Catalyszier, a move no sane minion of the Alchemist would risk. Assaulting the _Zenith _required a boarding action, but the Alchemist saw no Hunters in the air. A quick glance at the landing zone showed a mishmash of dormant and wrecked platforms, the result of an early attack, no doubt. Plenty of the platforms remained operational, but no one in the base was rising to the challenge. Not surprising, considering the soldiers who'd been left behind, but still disappointing. She had expected Sheen to be leading a charge – she had made a last-minute decision to stay, a choice that had made Kong raise his eyebrows for once – but there was no sign of Sheen anywhere, much less leading an attack.

Dark Star closed in on the _Zenith_, growling in anticipation of battle. The Alchemist had only moments to come up with a battle plan, but she found herself dwelling on this confusing strategy exhibited by Cervantes. The necromancer had shrewdly deceived her and had taken Sanctuary Island by surprise. So why corner himself like this? The _Zenith _couldn't be bombarded without risking the tower, but it was also fenced in, unable to maneuver. Soon the armada would arrive and the ship would be trapped, its fate all but sealed.

The necromancer had something else in mind.

_Oh, Alchemist?_

The horrid metallic voice was all the warning she got before a long line of white lightning fired up from below, passing so close to Dark Star's nose that the Alchemist could smell the air frying. Dark Star reeled in surprise and veered to the right, a second blast streaking by and missing by a foot.

The Night Fury went evasive as her master frantically searched the ground for their attacker. He wasn't hard to find, considering that there were no other metal-clad skeletal dragons around save for the one standing on the roof of the mess hall. Initially concealed by a smoke cloud, Cervantes left the safety of the smoke and rose into the air, his bony winds beating rhythmically but uselessly, his arms stretching out before him and pointing in the Alchemist's direction.

Another white blast of electrical current sizzled toward her, but this one met a boulder that she had commanded to come to her aid, rising from the sides of the caldera along with four of its brothers. The Alchemist did a little dance with her arms and the boulders took up a defensive formation around her as Dark Star banked around to face the flying metal nightmare that was Cervantes.

_I see someone has been stealing ideas from the Dragon Rider,_ chided Cervantes, turning to keep Dark Star from getting a direct bead on him. _It's a good look on you._

"And you've traded your old body for a shiny new model," shot back the Alchemist. "It's better, but then anything's better than 'decrepit old man.'"

They exchanged fire, the Alchemist launching a pair of boulders that collided with Cervantes but doing as much damage as a snowball might, the necromancer brushing the grit off his myssteel body. He missed once again with another lightning bolt, the dragon simply too agile to strike down.

_You do realize you can't hurt me with your pebbles, don't you?_ said Cervantes. _You'll have to do better._

He grunted in surprise when three more boulders crashed into him, first grinding into him and then shoving him downward. He fought off one of the rocks with a swipe of his razor-sharp myssteel claws, shredding it into gravel, but the other two proceeded to smash him like a pair of bricks being pounded together, inhibiting his ability to maneuver.

Dark Star lined up her head and a small glowing wormhole appeared just before her open mouth. A line of sickly green energy erupted, disintegrating one of the boulders clobbering Cervantes and taking off his right wing as well. Cervantes glanced at his now-missing wing and managed to make his dragonoid face scowl.

_I admit, that __**is**__ better._

"The rest of you is about to follow, Cervantes," threatened the Alchemist. "Order the men on the _Zenith_ to stand down, or I'll vaporize you right here." Dark Star hovered before the beleaguered necromancer and let loose an artificial cry of rage, the dragon hoping that Cervantes decided not to cooperate so it could finish off this threat to its master.

Cervantes kept up his scowl for the length of time it took him to glance at the _Zenith. _The scowl morphed into a smile as he gestured toward the vessel. _Before you give me an ultimatum, you should take another look at the weather coming our way._

Confident that Dark Star would disintegrate Cervantes if he tried anything, she deigned to look. In the sky above the _Zenith_, a small contingency of clouds had moved in, white specimens that were almost blinding to look at in the morning sun. They shouldn't be there at all, as Sanctuary Island had protection from the elements thanks to a tweak to the illusion field she made years ago. More ominously, the little clouds were growing in strength and circling one another, flowing into and out of one another, forming a ring directly over the vessel.

This was an atmospheric phenomenon the Alchemist recognized all too well, and it was aimed at her flagship… and the Omega Catalyszier beneath it.

Before she could take any action, the clouds ceased their expansion in short order, the ring holding at roughly half the size of the _Zenith._ The clouds around the ring churned and circulated as if riled up by a harsh wind, but the containment ring held steady. If the clouds became dark, it meant the barriers between this world and the realm of the Scouring had been pierced and something was about to cease all forms of existence below it. But the final push between dimensions wasn't occurring. Something was holding it back from the precipice.

The Alchemist turned her attention back to the smiling necromancer, feeling red-hot anger and pitch-black terror in equal proportions. Cervantes wisely didn't gloat or laugh, for that would've been his final words. He even removed the cruel smile on his face.

_Yes, I control the Catalyszier_. _One of the advantages of having a body that was once the brain of an island-sized Guardian is that it comes with a number of built-in talents. Through these talents, I learned how to use your True Alchemy to a small degree. I learned how to configure your siege cannons so that they fire by my command only, freeing up my crew for other tasks like, say, going on a decoy mission with your mist generator in tow, or manning the flight generator you had installed and yet never bothered to use. I assume that was either a tactic born of subterfuge or else you didn't have the power to fly your ship until your really big Catalyszier came alive._ The necromancer paused a moment to wink knowingly, a move that infuriated the Alchemist almost to the point of ordering Dark Star to fire away. But she didn't – too much at stake now.

_My best trick was to link myself to the Catalyszier, doing away with all of its other controls so that only I have power over it. I am keeping it restrained for now, though it wouldn't be too hard to let it slip and wipe away all your hard work. Think of it like a rubber band – I can release it slowly and cancel the effect, or it can snap and fire right through your precious flagship, and your even more precious Catalysziers._

"Cervantes…" she started to say, but when she heard the plea in her voice, she paused and mustered up some authority. "You risk a great deal in this course of action."

_Don't I know it?_ he replied. _But then I don't have much to lose, do I? The Void gave me two chances to stop you, and I failed both times. Yet here I am, with a third chance, and it is such a risky one. True, I can wreck your plans in one fell swoop, but it's more than that, isn't it? The Catalyszier doesn't just summon the Scouring - it arrests its progress. I wonder what would happen if that control was lost while the Scouring was pushing into our world?_

Through their empathy link, the Alchemist could feel Dark Star straining to be unleashed against Cervantes. She quieted her restless companion, told her to stand down for now. The dragon growled in protest, but obeyed as she always did.

"If you think for a second that I am surrendering to you…" she began.

_Please,_ he interrupted, waving the idea away. _Right now, I only want one thing from you. It's a simple thing, really._ His cruel smile returned, reminding the Alchemist that there was no such animal as a "simple thing" when it came to Cervantes.

_I want… a few minutes of your time._

* * *

The beach proved a forgiving place to land a banged up Hunter platform, the struts digging into the pebbly sand without breaking off. Proving that the old cliché involving captains going down with their ships didn't apply to everything, Linebreaker was the first of the team to jump off the platform, running for his beached sailing vessel with peals of laughter and a whoop or two.

"YES! No more flying!" he cried out, reaching the bow of his ship and hugging it like a best friend. "Oh, Ship, I will never take you for granted ever again."

The others jumped from the platform, grateful for any time spent away from Linebreaker's wobbly flying. While Saga attended to Qiao's shoulder with basic first aid and a makeshift bandage, Astrid went down to the water and gazed out at the sea, happy to smell the brine and feel the wind whip at her face. Prison had a habit of making one grateful for the little things, the normal stuff that you feared you'd never experience again.

Heather came down to her side and took in the sea as well, sighing with relief. "I didn't realize how cooped up I was feeling until now."

Astrid turned to her friend and made with a grateful smile. "You did good, Heather. I mean that. I should owe you for this."

"No, I think we should be even," Heather replied. "Besides, seeing you clock Sheen something good was reward enough."

"I, however, remain in your debt," said Saga, appearing abruptly at Astrid's side and causing Heather to almost jump out of her boots in shock.

"By the Gods, you're quieter than the moon," said Heather, holding a hand on her chest as she recovered from the scare. "Do you do this all this time, just showing up out of the blue?"

Astrid was used to Saga's super-sidling by now, calmly turning to her sister-in-arms and giving out another grateful smile. Astrid wasn't sure what to say, considering how deeply she regarded her friend and how happy she was to have her and Qiao and even Linebreaker (who was now kissing his boat… yuck) come to her rescue. But Saga was not one for emotional outbursts, and she wanted to respect her friend and not embarrass her too badly.

Saga held her reserved and professional face for one second longer… and then reached out and hugged Astrid fiercely. Astrid returned the embrace and even felt a tear or two slip out thanks to the warm gesture. No matter how much time you spent in Saga's company, she always found a way to surprise you.

"I thought you gone, Sister," Saga spoke softly, almost choking up. "I thought you gone forever, and what a woeful thought it was."

"You and me both," said Astrid as they separated. "I hate to say it, but it was the Alchemist that saved me. What a world, huh?"

Saga turned to Heather and placed a hand gently on Heather's shoulder. "I do not know you well, Heather, but you brought my Sister back, and for that I pledge my eternal loyalty to you."

"Ah… wow," said Heather, not sure how to properly address the serious-talking Viking. "Thanks, I guess. By the way, are you two actually sisters? I ask because Astrid never mentioned one and I don't see the resemblance."

Astrid or Saga might have explained away Heather's confusion had Qiao not walked up and blurted out the following: "Just wanted you guys to know that I've been the model of restraint until now. But since we're all having a moment… AHHHHH!"

Her scream of delight immediately turned into a hug as she grabbed Astrid while jumping up and down like a love-crazed puppy, yelling, "You're alive! You're alive! Oh, you're alive!" over and over. Heather and Astrid giggled at the outburst, while Saga opted to merely shake her head, slightly amused.

"Fun group you've been running around with lately, Astrid," said Heather. She then turned to Qiao right as she ceased her enthusiastic hugging. "So if Saga's this Seer that I've heard so much about, then you are…"

"Qiao, resident thief and the Alchemist's daughter," Qiao playfully declared.

Heather started at the news. "Okay, I _definitely _don't see the resemblance."

This kind of frivolity might have persisted longer had Astrid's face not fallen all of a sudden. With the rush of battle diminishing and calmer feelings taking hold, the fact that her friends were alive and well was a blatant reminder of the friends not present, especially the most important one of all, the one she had pushed out of mind to get this far. The others caught the mood shift, smiles slowly fading as Astrid summoned up the strength she would need to ask the question she didn't want to ask.

It was Saga she addressed the question to, for she was the one who would give the most honest answer. "Saga… I need to know if… I was shown this illusion, a memory of Dark Star and… it showed…"

Heather interrupted Astrid to save her the strain of spitting it out. "Hiccup, Saga. We saw what happened at the Repository. Did he… you know?" She made it farther than Astrid, but her tongue was soon suffering the same difficulties.

Saga saved them both from elaborating with a quick answer and a thin smile. "The Dragon Rider was not in the Repository when it fell."

Astrid didn't realize she was holding her breath until it all came out in one big gasp of relief. Heather made a similar sound, which came out more laugh-like. Astrid made to hug Saga again, but then she saw Saga's face and stopped. There was more to the story, and Astrid had a feeling she wasn't going to like it.

"He was not in the Repository," Saga explained, "because Nestor used an ancient teleportation device to send himself, Hiccup, and Toothless away. But… we do not know where they are."

"What?" said Astrid, no longer relieved. "How… how can you not know? What have you guys been doing this whole time?"

"There aren't too many self-help tomes on mystical teleportation, you know," said Qiao. "And we've been busy trying to find this island and stop Alche. You're welcome, by the way."

"Arc sensed that Nestor is still alive," said Saga. "As such, we have reason to believe that Hiccup and Toothless survive as well. But that is only a hope, I fear."

Heather took the news better than Astrid, who was looking like she might start crying again. "The Alchemist used a teleportation thingy to get her and Astrid back to the island. If I'd known Hiccup had escaped the same way…"

"It is too late for second guessing." Saga then gingerly placed her hands on Astrid's shoulders and said. "I have no vision to spell out their fate, Sister, but know that I will not rest until we find the Dragon Rider and the Outlander."

Astrid took some comfort in Saga's confident words, and her mood rebounded back to a more hopeful state. She knew more than she did before, and if anyone could survive out in the world together, it was Hiccup and Toothless and Nestor.

"Looks like I missed all the heavy stuff," said Linebreaker, returning to the group after giving Ship a quick inspection. "Now, if you all will assist in pushing Ship into the water…"

"We cannot take your vessel," stated Saga. "We must board the platform again."

Saga's statement stopped everyone in their tracks, with Linebreaker looking like she'd just told him to execute a kitten. "Say that again. I might still be a little airsick and didn't hear you right."

"Ship must stay here," insisted Saga. "It is not fast enough to outrun the Alchemist's airships once they pursue us."

"Pursue us?" said Qiao. "Last I checked, she was pretty busy with Cervantes. We don't even know if she'll win."

"I don't think it matters," said Astrid. "We know too much, Heather especially. Whoever wins will come after us. Saga's right."

"I don't know _that_ much," said Heather. "It's not like I stole anything like a Dragon Manual."

Qiao hemmed and hawed a moment and then opened her pack, revealing to the others the ivory cylinders residing within. "Actually, it is. I'll explain later, but these things are basically her diaries. If and when she finds out, she's going to be quite cheesed off."

"Then we have no choice," said Heather, sighing as she gave a glance at the platform. "It's no dragon, but it's faster than sea travel."

"But… Ship!" said Linebreaker, sputtering with incredulity.

"Captain, I know this is a sacrifice," said Saga. "I know we ask much…"

"SHIP!" declared Linebreaker, practically screaming.

"They probably won't go after it," said Qiao, trying to be comforting. "We'll come back for it when this is all over."

"No!" cried Linebreaker. "I did not sign up for a job where I abandon my vessel to pilot a fancy magic carpet!"

"Captain, think it over," said Qiao, placing a friendly hand around his shoulders. "We get caught aboard Ship out at sea, they'll blow it apart. We'll be dead and it'll be driftwood. Do you want that?"

There was a painful moment when Linebreaker's rational and irrational sides battled it out for supremacy, his face grimacing in frustration as he alternated between capitulation and stubborn pride. He might have resisted longer had the company not been four pretty women, but he couldn't deny the truth of their situation. He had watched the armada fly off to do battle, and he knew how fast the platforms could go. As fast as Ship was, it just couldn't compete.

"You owe me for this," he finally said between gritted teeth. "And I mean actual money. Ask your dragon friend for it when he gets here. I know he's good for it."

Qiao gave him a little kiss on the cheek as a form of thank-you. "Won't Mr. Uptight be thrilled when he sees everything we have. Bet he'll have a lot of questions for us once he arrives."

"We cannot wait for him," declared Saga.

Now it was Qiao's turn to make the kitten-murdering face at Saga. "We sure _can_ wait for him! What talk is this?"

Saga calmly shook her head, indicating how much her words pained her. "Every second we spend here is one second we cannot afford to waste. We need to make the Mainland well ahead of our pursuers if we are to shake them off our trail. The sea will not hide us."

"That's something I get, but that doesn't mean we leave anyone behind!" said Qiao.

"Arc understands duty above all else," said Saga matter-of-factly. "You know this to be true. If we are to stop the Alchemist's forces, we cannot be recaptured."

"But… Arc!" Qiao stated. "He's one of us!"

"Yes, he is," said Saga. "He is also over eleven-hundred years old, and he has lived most of those years alone. He can take care of himself."

"I don't like it either, Qiao," said Astrid, "but…"

"Oh, stop it!" snapped Qiao. "You just agree with whatever Saga says these days."

"Hey, you're getting personal now," said Heather.

"And since when do you get a say?" snapped Qiao again. "You're brand-new."

It was Linebreaker that saved the matter from getting uglier. He gently ushered Qiao away from the group and spent several minutes talking to her in a low voice. Saga and the others took the opportunity to gather supplies from Linebreaker's vessel and load them onto the platform, so that by the time Qiao and Linebreaker returned the platform was ready to go. Qiao said nothing as she climbed into the platform and sat down, her bow across her lap and a sad frown on her lips.

"What'd you say to her?" asked Astrid to Linebreaker as the others boarded the platform.

Linebreaker made a weak smile. "I told her something… personal. And that's all you're going to get out of me." Then he gave his beached vessel one long look, the kind that might have inspired a tragic love poem if the object of his affection hadn't been made of wood, and then boarded the platform. Astrid followed without further question, hating this sadistic choice circumstances had forced them to make. They were making the right one, of this she was certain, but it still felt like the wrong one.

There were no final words of consolation as the platform shakily lifted off, scattering pebbles into the ocean as it took a northern course. It was too risky to leave anything behind to tip off the Alchemist and her minions, as they would undoubtedly search the area around Ship, as well as Ship itself. They had to hope that Arc would find a way back to them… and that they hadn't abandoned the dragon to a grim, lonely end.

* * *

The mess hall rooftop wasn't anyone's definition of private, but it was as private as the Alchemist would allow. No one was allowed on the roof except for her and Cervantes. No one could hear them talk, though everyone would know that a discussion was taking place.

The Alchemist and Cervantes stood opposite each other, each adopting their poker faces, each armed with the knowledge that a bad outcome to this discussion would cost them dearly. Dark Star had been sent away, but she kept an airborne vigil above their heads. If the necromancer tried anything treacherous, the Night Fury would vaporize him instantly. In exchange, the _Zenith _could bombard the Alchemist at a moment's notice.

The armada had been ordered to hold position outside of the base and all Hunters grounded until The Alchemist said otherwise. The eyes of her army, the former ones looking down from her stolen flagship and the current ones standing on the ground, were upon her. Most of them understood that their lives hung now by a thread and that this meeting was the knife that threatened to cut it.

The circling clouds in the air above Sanctuary held in place, no bigger and no smaller. Cervantes' reminder of the power he now wielded. By now the men aboard the _Zenith_ knew what fate would befall them if this went badly, but there was nowhere for them to go except to jump to their deaths. The Alchemist didn't pity them in the slightest – the last thing turncoats deserved was pity.

_You've been busy in the last few years,_ Cervantes said, his glowing eyes flashing rapidly, synched with his speech. _A base, an army, a secret weapon or two… Everything I feared you would accomplish has come true._

"Almost," said the Alchemist. "Now, if you'd kindly stop getting in my way, I'd get some actual work done."

_You still think your grand plan will work, don't you? _The metal dragon attempted to sneer, but it came off like he had bad gas instead. _You truly believe you have it all figured out. You think you can bring enlightenment to the masses, transform the world into a kinder, gentler version of itself. How frightfully naïve. You are destined to fail._

The Alchemist smirked. "Same old arguments, Cervantes. Do you have nothing new to share besides your pessimism? I really have other things to do, and Dark Star is itching for a fight."

_I'm trying to demonstrate the folly of your path. The world cannot be forced to change. Have the painful lessons of the last few weeks taught you nothing?_

"They've taught me that I should have dumped you back into the sea when I had the chance."

_Crude taunts are beneath you, Alchemist. _

"Then let's move up to more elegant taunts, shall we? You talk to me of folly and naivety, but I possess power and knowledge that you can never achieve. And that threatens you, doesn't it? You're _afraid_, Cervantes. You fear those with more power than you, because Cervantes must always have the upper hand. That's why you betrayed that old Hyperion, the one the Vikings called Red Death, so you could steal his power. That's why you ran off to secure the Monolith once you understood what I was capable of. And the sickest part of it? I don't think you ever had any aspirations. I think you just want to be feared. I think you just want to be in control. The world can burn as long as Cervantes doesn't burn with it. That's why I'm the one with real power, and you're the one always lagging behind."

The pause that came after went on a little too long for the Alchemist's tastes. Cervantes let his face slip back to neutral, his eyes steady, his body motionless. She thought of Cervantes as a being of careful deliberation, but he also carried grudges. What if her words pushed him to commit an irreparable act? Perhaps she should tread more carefully, even apologize if need be.

_It does appear that I am always standing in the shadows of giants, _Cervantes finally admitted, _but it is the safest way to approach one. I know now that I cannot defeat you, Alchemist, not without destroying myself in the process. That is why I decided that I wanted to join you, to see your grand vision come to pass even if it is doomed to failure._

The Alchemist was glad none of her men were close enough to see her face, because she was certain that the shocked look she now wore would likely ruin her hard-boiled image. She might have laughed at the preposterous statement had the clouds above the _Zenith _not reminded her that mocking those with access to doomsday weapons led to doomsday becoming reality.

"_Join_ me?" she said. "Why would you want to, and why would I let you?"

_Two good questions. To the first, understand that I seek self-preservation. For all the new skills I have acquired by gaining this new body, I have lost far more. I cannot control the dead as I once did. I cannot hide or blend in with the rest of humanity. I have no allies to speak of, yet I retain all my enemies. I could choose to fly to the South Pole and spend eternity in the frozen places where no living thing can survive, but what kind of life would that be? I don't subscribe to your ideals, Alchemist, and I know that, given the chance, you would destroy me. But I am willing to take my chances with you rather than on my own._

_To your second question… well, besides the obvious fact that I could devastate your plans at any moment? I am willing to surrender the __**Zenith**__ and its crew back to you, though I will retain control of the Catalyszier as insurance on my continued existence. I can even sweeten the deal by offering the return of your most dedicated minion, Norom, as well as the identity of the one who betrayed you by unleashing me in the first place._

While she kept her stony persona in place, she felt a burst of elation at hearing that the loyal half-troll lived. It also made her skeptical. "Why would you suffer Norom to live for all this time?"

_He proved… informative._ That hateful sneer returned, and again the Alchemist felt like ordering Cervantes' destruction right there and then. Naturally she didn't act on it.

"So far, this deal doesn't seem very sweet to me," she said. "You only offer that which was once mine while refusing to give back everything, and I still don't see what use you could be to me."

_I mentioned my enemies, did I not? They are also your enemies – the Dragon Rider, the Outlander, and most especially the Hyperion. And that is just the beginning. Do you think the other Hyperions will stand idly by? Do you think the armies of humanity will not rise up against you?_

"They can try," she said boastfully. She thought about mentioning how she just left one such threat, the Hyperion called Arc, spiraling down to his grave, but the news would make the necromancer happy, and that was an emotion she wished to rob him of for as long as possible.

_Prideful as always, _Cervantes replied. _Regardless, you'd be wise to seek my advice on some of these dangers. Pride goes before a fall, and I believe you've experience that first-hand._

The Alchemist let the remark slide by. Under any other circumstance, she'd have already ended negotiations and blasted Cervantes into oblivion. He had nothing she wanted, and trusting him was like trusting a rabid dog to keep the biting to a minimum. But he had the First Catalyszier under his control, and that was a bargaining chip that trumped all else. She could ill-afford the added headache of watching Cervantes, but there would be far bigger headaches if she didn't agree to his proposal.

"If I do this," she said, "if I forgive you your trespasses and you forgive mine, what would be the result? You cannot share an empire with me, for I do not seek one."

_Simple, really. After I've proven myself to you, when the time is right and the world caters to your will, you will let me go my own way, and you will not pursue. Whatever I do will be my business. I might carve out a little kingdom somewhere in China, or I might work on finding a body that doesn't require a lot of spit and shine to keep clean. I will create my own reward, and you will let me keep it._

"That could take a long time," said the Alchemist. "What I set out to do could take years and years."

_With me, it will take less time,_ the metal skele-dragon boasted.

She had to give in. He knew it, she knew it. This bartering was a formality. The thought of Cervantes traveling in her armada, her plans continuously on the precipice, the necromancer always searching for a means to kill her and seize all her power… oh, there was no torture in the world that could compete with that. Yet he would be close, allowing her to keep an eye on him, and she could make it her new hobby to find a means of releasing the Catalyszier from his clutches. It wasn't much of an upside, but she'd take it for now.

"It seems that I have little choice, Cervantes," she declared. "Prove to me now that you can undo what you've set in motion, and we will have an accord."

Cervantes stretched his bony head to the sky, his eyes shifting color as they flashed a silent code to the Catalyszier above him. The clouds reacted instantly, white blending into blue as the cloud broke apart and scattered, shrinking until there was only clear skies overhead. A series of cheers erupted from the _Zenith_, the crew relishing in their stay of execution. A few half-hearted cheers came from the men on the ground, blended with talk of uncertainty. The Alchemist would have much explaining to do, and spinning this into a positive would prove difficult, but she would make this work. She had to.

Cervantes turned back to her and held out a clawed, skeletal hand to her. She took it, recoiling at the coldness of his metal skin. They shook, a meaningless gesture but still required for the sake of appearances. They both knew that no bond had been formed here, no deal that any court would honor. And upon the first genuine chance that came to her, the Alchemist would remove Cervantes from her life once and for all.

It was safe to say that Cervantes had the same idea.

* * *

The prisoner had lost track of the days while sitting in the darkness of the _Zenith's_ holding cells, to the point where time became nothing more than a blur between naps and feedings. The only constant was the cool feel of the stone floor and the stone bars that surrounded him. Light was as rare as company, for Cervantes had taken the glow-stones from the ceiling. The only time the world came into focus was when someone came to drop off his meager meal or to retrieve him for one of many interrogations.

Grimy, sore, and bereft of hope, the prisoner spent his time plotting revenges he would never get to perform, envisioning his hands closing around a certain throat, or pummeling a certain face. In-between such fantasies he craved a final visit that would release him from his torment one way or another. He had been alone for several days now, having surrendered to Cervantes crucial knowledge that would ensure the necromancer's rise to power. Cervantes no longer cared about the prisoner, content to lock him away from the light, a living reminder to the crew of what befell those who opposed the new guy in charge.

When the lights came on again, the room awash in yellowish splendor from a potable lantern, the prisoner awoke from his spacey stupor and shot to his feet. His dark-adjusted eyes could barely make out anything through the painful glare, but he knew his end had come at last. Whether they did the task here in his cell or marched him to an ignominious execution in front of the crew, finality was now ready for him.

"Norom," spoke his executioner… no, wait, that didn't sound right.

"Norom!" she spoke again, the voice ringing with relief.

He felt at once conflicted and relieved, ashamed and yet almost giddy, as his eyes cleared and welcomed the light. His vision confirmed that he had not gone mad, for it truly was the Alchemist that stood outside his cell, flanked by Kong and two other soldiers, one of whom was opening the metal door to his cage. She wore a strange harness that he'd never seen her wear before, but otherwise she looked exactly as he'd last seen her before her journey into the Repository.

"Alchemist," he whispered softly, as if afraid that saying her name aloud would banish her from his life again.

"Help him out of there," she demanded. The two soldiers did so, taking hold of one beefy arm each and gently ushering him out of the cell. He then stood before her, under her strong and angry gaze, and suddenly all he wanted to do was find the darkness again, to hide there and wither away under the weight of his shame.

"There will be punishment for this," she declared. For a moment he thought he was talking to him, but her eyes on the two soldiers at his sides. They cringed at her voice, as well they should.

"They told me… they told me you died in the Repository," he spoke, his raspy voice barely above a whisper. "I believed them."

She then turned back to Norom and gently placed a hand on his cheek. "Brave Norom, you alone stood loyal on this ship, even when you thought me dead. I cannot wish for a truer companion than you."

"But… I failed you, Alchemist." Norom looked away shamefully, unable to meet her gaze. "I gave up secrets…"

"The fault was not yours, Norom," she said. "Look at me, and feel no shame."

He managed the first request, but not the second. "Did we… win?"

The troubled look on her face told him that the events that had transpired in his absence could not be described as a "win." "We are better than we were, Norom. We are back on track."

"Cervantes?"

She hesitated, her troubled look deepening. "Things have changed, Norom."

"In what manner?"

"He has joined us."

Even weakened, Norom's burst of angry disbelief sent the two men flanking him sprawling to the floor and made Kong move his hands to his sheathed weapons. He stared at his beloved leader, too weak to muster true rage but still able to look dangerously upset.

"This cannot be," said Norom.

"Yet it is," she replied, standing her ground with firm determination. "You must trust in my judgment, Norom, for I had no other choice."

Norom angrily shook his head. "He is beyond untrustworthy! He is a monster!"

"He controls the Catalyszier, and that is all that I need to say." She took a step toward him, staring directly into his blood-shot eyes. "I must know if you still follow me as before, Norom. I need to know if you can put aside your rage for now. I cannot have you attacking Cervantes."

Norom huffed and puffed like a riled-up bull for a long moment, wanting desperately to vent his displeasure on someone, or many someones. His half-troll heritage sometimes got the best of him, and with his tainted blood came a desire to cause mayhem when he became too upset. With the Alchemist's help, he had learned how to channel such dark impulses to more productive uses. It was the Alchemist that had transformed him from the sock-stealing brute he was when he first met her to the disciplined warrior he was now, and it was her presence that kept him from lashing about wildly and unthinkingly.

She gave him the time he needed to be calm, and he took it. He swallowed hard and said, "I follow you as always, Alchemist. If you told me to catch the sun, I would pluck it out of the sky and hold it until it turned me to ashes."

The Alchemist nodded approvingly. "I knew that would be your answer. Come, you need proper food and clothing."

"As long as Cervantes lives, my place is at your side," insisted Norom. "I'll eat later."

"Commendable," she replied, "but I need you in good health for what is to come." She made to issue a direct order, but then a new idea came to her, one that might cheer up the angry half-troll.

"Although," she said, "if you feel up to it, there is one matter you can help me with right now."

* * *

Not long ago, a meeting between the Alchemist and her lieutenants would've been a standard affair. The Alchemist will tell of her plans, and her minions would offer advice but ultimately agree to what she ordered. It worked pretty smoothly and no one was ever concerned with anyone getting carried out from such a meeting wrapped up in a funeral shroud.

Today, that was no longer the case.

Aboard the _Zenith_, within the personal chambers of the Alchemist, Cragfist leaned against a nearby wall, trying not to look as pained as he felt, a hard task to pull off considering his face sporting two black eyes and several bruises. A result of an unhappy reunion between him and Norom, who stood on the other side of the room, rubbing his knuckles and looking ready to use them again.

Kong and Sheen were also present, Sheen off to the side and standing with her head bowed, worried that Norom would be using her next as an unwilling sparring partner. Her chain had been confiscated and she felt almost naked without it. She snuck looks at Kong, silently asking for support here, but the stoic swordsman ignored her quiet pleas. He was all about honor, and in his mind she had stepped over the line that separated honor from dishonor, though you wouldn't get that impression from reading his face.

The Alchemist stood before the two of them, calm and deliberate and seemingly at ease with how the meeting was going. Despite the various differences in their demeanors, those gathered around her felt equally impressed at how unfazed she looked despite the outcome of today's events. True, things were looking better than they were an hour ago, now that the _Zenith _was back in her hands and the crew currently going through a series of interrogations and questioning. The armada stood on guard as the ship was inspected and the base secured, the Omega Catalyszier having come to no harm. But the damage done by Cervantes and the surprise visit by the Champions (as the men had grown to call them), had been extensive, and Cervantes was now part of the Alchemist's army. The rumblings amongst the men weren't pleasant, a few outright accusing the Alchemist of chickening out against the necromancer. Such accusations had been met with severe punishment, which quieted the rest, but it was clear that the soldiers did not have the confidence in their leader they once had.

The Alchemist ignored Cragfist for now and centered her sights on Sheen, a disapproving look on her face. "Sheen, Sheen, Sheen. Being one of my lieutenants comes with a serious degree of responsibility. Up until now, I thought you had that covered. So to find out that you sat on your suspicions of Astrid and Heather instead of informing me immediately, as well as acting on your suspicions by organizing an illegal death-sport event that backfired on you something fierce… well, it fills me with regret."

"Would you have believed me if I told you that your new favorite was about to betray you?" replied Sheen, keeping her head down and her tone soft, though it did little to hide the defensiveness of her words.

"You have been my lieutenant for over a year," said the Alchemist. "Heather was only in my favor for a week. I think I might have listened to you, Sheen. And I strongly suggest you curb your attitude, lest you share in Cragfist's punishment."

Sheen wisely did not reply.

"Sheen, because of your past record, I feel the need to give you a means to redeem yourself. As such, I give you this task. Listen well, for your future in my army rests on the outcome.

"Now that my flagship is back in my possession, I will be taking it and the armada to Riki Poka immediately. I have no reason to delay, and every reason to believe that any further hesitation will strengthen our enemies and sap our men's morale. This base will empty out and we will begin our campaign in full. However, we have hit yet another rip in the fabric of my plan that must be sewn up. The Seer and her allies have escaped, and I have reason to believe they have important information in their custody. I suspect this because my personal chambers were broken into and something removed from my room. Since Qiao was sighted amongst the… Champions, if that's what we must call them… I believe she is the most likely culprit. The information she has could be very damaging, and so we must retrieve it at any cost."

She bade Sheen to look at her directly, imparting the seriousness of her words with her stern eyes. "I am sending you after them, and I'm giving you the _Cauldron_. With the _Zenith_ at my command I can now spare a ship for this mission, along with a full crew compliment and three Hunter platforms. That should be more than sufficient. Because the Champions are using my technology, you should have no trouble tracking them down. I want Qiao brought back _alive_." She stopped and glared at Sheen ferociously. "Alive and untouched, for any injury she suffers will be shared by you. But all the others you may… dispose of. That includes Astrid and Heather, who have seen fit to throw away the good grace that I lent them. Bring back the things they stole, and do not return until all this is done. Fail me, and my favor will be forever lost to you. And that is a dangerous thing to lose, Sheen."

"Yes, Alchemist," said Sheen in a contrite tone, lowering her head again.

Now it was Cragfist's turn, and while he tried to muster up some Viking defiance he came off looking like an injured rat that was waiting for the cat to up and snuff out its life. He glared at the Alchemist through swollen eyes, prepared for death to come at any moment. In fact, he was shocked he still lived. He had expected either Norom or Kong to have done the deed by now. Perhaps the Alchemist was saving that pleasure for herself.

"Cervantes told me everything, Cragfist," said the Alchemist. "He gave you up just like that." She snapped her fingers for emphasis. "Cervantes doesn't know the meaning of the word _loyalty_, but I do. As such, I am about to teach you what happens when you break loyalty with me. You'll be the object lesson for the men that worked with Cervantes, the ones I choose to spare. Most of them will be spared, for I can't very well invite Cervantes into my world and then punish my men for it. That would not look good. You, however, will not be so lucky."

She waved to Kong, who came up behind her and held out his right hand. His fingers clutched a steel necklace holding a medallion with a round green gem embedded in the center. The Alchemist took the medallion and held it up to Cragfist so he could get a clear look at it. "The good news is that I want you alive for this lesson. That's the only good news for you."

She told him to turn around, and while he thought about resisting what was to come, he knew he'd be wearing the medallion no matter what. He might as well not earn any broken fingers over it.

He complied and she draped the medallion around his neck and then fastened it. The gem started to glow lightly as Cragfist turned back around, signifying that it was active and magical.

"A new device of mine," the Alchemist explained, "one I hoped I wouldn't be forced to use. I like it better when my troops are cooperative." She held up a one-handed device, a small metal cylinder with a spring-loaded button on one end. "Should this button get pushed, that gem around your neck explodes like dragon fire. Try to remove the medallion, and the same thing occurs." She handed off the device to Sheen, who eagerly took the device while giving Cragfist a sadistic grin.

"What's the point in this?" he dared ask. "Why not throw me to the wolves?"

"Believe me, it's tempting to do so," she admitted. "Norom suggested that he break your spine and then have your limp body tossed into Dark Star's playpen so she can have a new chew toy. But I don't want to waste your life needlessly when there might be one last spark of value to you.

"You are going with Sheen, Cragfist. You will go and deliver me the head of the Seer. For some reason, you have gotten close to your sister twice and survived both times. I didn't use to care about your vendetta, but the Seer has apparently gotten over her prophecy-telling difficulties and managed to not only find my base, but also caused serious damage. She must be eliminated once and for all, and if you accomplish this task and bring me proof, I will grant mercy. Any failure, any act of defiance, any deviation from Sheen's orders… Poof!"

She then gave Sheen a look of warning. "He is otherwise _not_ to explode, Sheen. If I find out you took matters into your own hands…"

"I get it, Alchemist," Sheen replied. She obediently tucked away the portable button, giving Cragfist a final look that told Cragfist that there was no way he was coming back from this mission.

So this was how it was to end for him. One last betrayal and one final suicide mission. Still, at least it beat becoming a chew toy, and it would give him a chance to die like a Viking, a fate he had all but given up on. If the Gods had seen fit to stay the Alchemist's hand a little longer, then perhaps he was destined to see his sister one last time. And if the opportunity did come to him a third time, then he swore he would not see it go to waste.


	12. Horrible Waiting

**Author's Notes (yes, they still exist): **Two things (that are pertinent to the year 2013, after which you can ignore):

1) Next week will be a double-feature - two chapters. No, it doesn't mean I'm ending the story yet. I simply think that it would be cruel to not include both chapters together. I think you'll understand why after you read it.

2) As is a habit for me, my stomach is far smaller than my eyes. I didn't get the story done by the end of summer, and now I'm back at work and my writing time has been halved. While next week's double-chapter release is the last ready-to-go chapters I have, the good news is that I still have several chapters in the to-be-edited bucket, and every day I get a little more writing done. Still, there is a chance that I will hit a wall and have to delay further publication until I can catch up. So far, I think I'm far enough ahead to avoid this fate, but life does happen.

I will warn you all in another Author's Notes _**if**_ I must delay. As always, I suggest people do Author or Story Alerts to be on the safe side.

Onwards.

**Chapter Eleven: Horrible Waiting**

Hiccup had spent a good chunk of his life fantasying about basically everything. Habitual tinkerers were like that, mapping out problems in their minds and creating designs to address those problems. Imagination was a tool for the complex mind, something that was often scoffed at by the more physically-inclined types who figured any problem could be fixed with the right application of pushing or twisting. As such, Hiccup relied on his bouts of fantasy as a method of inspiration. Lately, he'd needed it just to keep himself from cracking up.

Over the last two weeks, Hiccup had racked up an impressive number of fantasies concerning Astrid, most involving her miraculous return to the living. In his mind, he'd envisioned Odin plucking Astrid from a watery grave, Astrid swimming to the surface of the ocean after holding her breath for twenty minutes, Astrid learning how to fly without a dragon, Astrid walking on lava, Astrid tying a rope to her axe and using it as a grapple, Astrid somehow grabbing onto a rock outcropping without losing her arms in the process, and so on. It didn't matter how sane the fantasy was. He didn't care how she came back or what rules of reality were broken in the process. Up could become down and left could become right. Just… let her come back.

Sometimes he envisioned darker fantasies, the ones that tormented you instead of pleasing you. What if she did survive the fall, only to be trapped inside a collapsing cavern and left with a limited supply of air? What if someone else rescued her, only to sell her off as a slave? What if she was returned to him broken, armless, legless, even senseless, cursing her with a life that was worse than being dead?

But no matter the scenario, no matter how improbable or grim the fantasy, it always ended with Hiccup coming to get her. Him and Toothless, flying through storms of arrows or oceans of fire. Cutting down armies of pirates or taking on Loki himself if the God stood in his way. No force would stand between him and the woman he loved. He wouldn't rest until she was back at his side, because a Viking in love was the most dangerous person on the planet.

Fantasies, of course, were fiction. Fantasies weren't supposed to come true. To teach an ideal, or to distract you from the harshness of reality – fantasies were good at that kind of thing. But coming true, becoming real? Not in this life.

Then again, becoming the village hero had been a fantasy. Gaining the respect of his father had been a wishful dream. Riding atop a creature that everyone else considered the most hated and feared of all dragons was so far beyond madness that anyone who suggested it was immediately checked for head injuries. The rules on what could be and what couldn't be were constantly changing, more so these days than any day before. Hiccup understood that _improbable_ didn't mean _impossible_, though that didn't mean that you should sell all your yaks to every passing lunatic that offered you a handful of magic beans.

But today, another fantasy had come true. The improbable occurred, and while reality may suffer for it down the road, Hiccup didn't care.

Astrid… was… _alive!_

But instead of flying to the rescue, he was… waiting.

Horrible, terrible, agonizing _waiting._

Upon hearing that someone matching Astrid's description was on the loose at the Alchemist's base, the team had landed inside a sheltered cove to await further information. Mostly it was to give Proto all the time he needed to deduce the source of the signal coming from the conduit device, since the more activities Proto was involved in (such as flying) the less attention he could devote to analysis. Proto was currently curled up like a steel turtle, all his tentacles reabsorbed into his torso. A singular voice occasionally blurted out sentences in Old Frank, the same voice that had spilled the beans earlier. Nestor had Proto keep the conduit open so he could listen in and find out more information.

Hiccup had taken up the useless art of pacing, wearing a faint trial into the rock he paced upon. Toothless sat next to him and watched his rider's repetitious wanderings, the dragon looking concerned. Nestor was parked close to Proto, his ears focused on the disembodied voice but his eyes on Hiccup. Adon sat with his back to the group and kept to himself, pleasing everyone. And as for the Twins…

"Did he find her yet?" asked Ruffnut, wandering in.

"No," said Nestor.

"Did he find her yet?" asked Tuffnut, also wandering in.

"Again, no," said Nestor.

Disappointed, the Twins wandering back to their dragon's side. Both heads were taking a quick nap on a pile of rocks, blissfully unconcerned over present matters.

Hiccup stopped for a moment, gave Proto a silent stare, then resumed his pacing. He did this often, wanting to yell out his impatience at the machine even though he understood that you couldn't rush this kind of thing. But outside of distracting Proto from his job, ranting would do nothing.

"You may want to ease up on the pacing, Hiccup," commented Nestor. "I don't know how long the repairs on your leg will hold."

"If it breaks, it breaks," said Hiccup. "Pacing keeps me from panicking."

"Did he find her yet?" asked Tuffnut, wandering back again.

"No," Nestor calmly stated.

"Did he find her yet?" asked Ruffnut, a step behind her brother.

"Again, no," he repeated.

The Twins wandered off again for the fifteenth time. Nestor kept track because once they reached their twentieth repetition, he'd feel justified in killing them.

"I should be there," mumbled Hiccup, his voice desperate despite his low tone. "I… I should be there already. I can't be here, just waiting around while she's fighting for her life."

"Take a breath, Hiccup," requested Nestor. "We're doing everything we can."

"Everything we can?" Hiccup stopped pacing and faced Nestor. "We should be in the air, we should be flying!"

"Where, Hiccup?" replied Nestor, keeping his voice low to keep his friend from escalating. "Without a direction to go on…"

"Did he find her yet?" said both Twins in a rare moment of synchronicity.

"And you two!" Hiccup whirled on the Twins, who both started at the ferocious look in Hiccup's face. "You can't be this stupid! We didn't have you come out here just so you two can perform bad comedy!"

Ruffnut was too stunned to reply. Her brother, on the other hand, was never too stunned to keep his mouth shut. "We're just worried, Hiccup. We didn't think…"

"_Exactly!_" Hiccup's face went beet-red, his voice escalating into high-pitch territory. "And normally, I don't care. But we're in some serious yak do-do right now and you two can't be bothered to put the stupid on hold! Go over to your dragon and stay until I come to get you, or else I'll have Toothless bury you two in the sand while I rub jelly on your faces and leave you for the ants!"

"We don't have any jelly," said Tuffnut, right before his sister smacked him on the head and dragged him away.

After the Twins were gone, Hiccup resumed his frantic pacing. Nestor blew out a soft sigh. "And I thought finding out Astrid was alive would be _good_ for your disposition," he commented.

"I think I have a right to be angry," said Hiccup.

"Yes, but take it out on the right people," cautioned Nestor. "The Twins… well, alright, maybe they earned some of that…"

"I can't lose her again, Nestor," Hiccup blurted out, stopping his pacing and facing Nestor, a look of utter helplessness replacing his anger. "How am I supposed to deal with this? The gods must find these kinds of jokes hilarious, because they do them all the time? 'Oh, hey, mortal, you care about somebody more than life itself? Well, we'll bring her back alive, but only so we can kill her off again. Isn't that a riot? Don't you get the humor?'"

Nestor stood up and walked up to Hiccup, placing his hands on Hiccup's shoulders. "We are _not_ losing her again, Hiccup. I don't think the Fates are that cruel. And even if they are… well, then we'll walk up to them and kick them where the sun don't shine until they get the point. We are going to find her, and we're going to get her. But you're not going to be any good to her if you're suffering a nervous breakdown at the time. So take a breath and take a seat."

It might have been Nestor's calm approach, or maybe Hiccup's outburst at the Twins had gotten the majority of the angst out of his system, but Hiccup actually felt like listening. He nodded and went over to Toothless, sitting down next to his dragon buddy and placing an arm around his neck. Toothless leaned into him, giving him the quiet comfort he needed right now. He needed it if he was going to survive all this waiting.

Horrible, agonizing waiting.

* * *

Satisfied that Hiccup was as calm as could be reasonably expected, Nestor was returning to Proto when he found Adon in his way, the little Hyperion looking at him curiously.

"You don't _act_ like someone whose taken Arc's teachings to heart," said Adon. "You're still much too nice."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Merely an observation," said Adon. "For example, Arc isn't one to make promises he can't keep."

"These days, I don't know what promises can and can't be kept," replied Nestor. "But mostly I'm not the kind of guy who kills hope when he doesn't need to." He narrowed his eyes toward Adon. "After all, aren't Hyperions all about hope?"

Adon narrowed his bulbous eyes. "Do you give Arc this much sass?"

"Constantly."

"And you still plan on rushing to your death once your fancy talking contraption figures out which direction it lies?"

"Absolutely."

Adon laughed resignedly. "Then I suppose I should teach you how to project your barrier field."

Nestor's eyes widened. "Um… now?"

"We won't have the time later, and it might even save your life."

"But it took me weeks to figure out how to Shroud."

Adon laughed again, this time in a more humorous fashion. "It took you weeks to figure out the mindset you needed. Projecting a field works much the same way as Shrouding. But instead of picturing yourself as 'that which cannot be seen,' you must imagine yourself touching that which you should not be able to touch."

They moved away from the others for some privacy, though they remained close so that Hiccup could call out to him if Proto discovered anything or another message came through. As it was, Hiccup did watch Nestor and Adon absently, consumed with Astrid-related thoughts.

Once they found a safe spot for the lesson, Adon wandered off for a minute. When he came back, he had a collection of small stones in his mouth. He then spent another minute spitting out the stones and arranging them in a line. When he was satisfied with his work, Adon padded back to Nestor and faced the rock line like an archer conducting target practice.

"Try to touch the first rock," ordered Adon. "Touch it without walking over there."

"I already know I can't," said Nestor.

"Humor me."

Nestor reached his right arm toward the tiny brown stone on the rock line. He stretched as far as his muscles would allow, and he was easily ten feet short of his objective. No real surprise.

"Your field is part of you, kid," he instructed. "Moving your field outward is the same as stretching your arm outward. You can't just pretend that you're touching the stone. You have to _know_ you're touching it." Adon demonstrated by swishing his tail at the stone, which sparked a blast of orange that connected with the stone chunk and catapulted it away.

"When you Shroud, you _know_ you're nigh-invisible," continued Adon. "The same way works here. Now reach out your hand at the next stone and _know _you're going to hit it."

Nestor hesitated for a moment, then he closed his eyes and brought his hand up, only to have his leg whapped by Adon's tail.

"_Salo krebit_, what was that for?"

"Eyes open, kid," admonished Adon. "You have to see what you want to touch."

Shaking his head and muttering a Gothic phrase that suggested Adon's mother had poor taste in footwear, Nestor tried to focus on the chosen stone, willing his fingers to feel the curve of the rock, its hard texture, its solid build. He shunted his barrier to his hand, his arm glowing a reddish hue as he strained to cross the distance. But the barrier didn't leave his arm, no matter how much he willed it.

Adon whapped him again. "This is it? This is all you can give me? Arc can't shut up about you and how far you've come along. Maybe he's been lying all this time."

"WILL YOU LAY OFF?" Nestor shouted, swinging his hand around toward Adon in a gesture of frustration. It stopped being just a gesture the moment a pulse of curved crimson energy fired off it and plowed into the ground right next to Adon, missing him by inches. Adon didn't even flinch, nor did his own field activate. In fact, the little dragon seemed satisfied by the results.

"I… I didn't mean to do that," stammered Nestor, half-amazed and half-ashamed.

"Oh, but you did," said Adon. "That's the point. You're thinking about this too hard. It has to be as natural as making a fist. It has to be instinct. So now aim for the rock, but this time… put my face on it."

Nestor thought he understood what Adon wanted, and he shifted his focus back to the stone. He kept his arm lowered for the moment, conjuring a picture of Adon where the stone rested. Adon, standing there with his superior smile and accusing words, like he knew more about being a Hyperion than Arc. Adon, calling Arc a liar…

He swept his arm out like before, and his field flared. The burst smacked the stone into the air, knocking it into the gently lapping waters below.

"Huh," said Nestor. He might have felt like smiling if he hadn't suddenly felt a little lightheaded, even dizzy. The odd feeling only lasted a second, though, and he was too thrilled with his success to think much of it. Brief bouts like that happen to everyone.

"That's more like it," said Adon. "Now take out all those stones."

Nestor started with the next stone, sending it skipping into the sea with another flash of crimson. Nestor heard someone behind him call out for more action. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the Twins watching him in the distance, thrilled at having something to occupy their minds and shoo away the anxiety of the waiting game. Hiccup watched in a detached fashion, which was understandable.

The lesson wasn't all that different than the ones Arc had taught him about manipulating his barrier field, yet there was something significantly off about it. This became more apparent as Nestor swept aside a third stone, for the dizzy spell came again, only it lasted a lot longer. He had to close his eyes through the worst of it, hoping to avoid the indignity of toppling over. But it passed before it got that bad.

"You all right?" asked Adon, studying him more intently than before.

"I'm okay," said Nestor, not wanting to show weakness in front of the dragon. What was up with this lightheadedness? He'd never felt anything like it before, certainly not during other training lessons. His field usually prevented this kind of thing, strengthening his body while it was active.

Stress. That had to be it. Stress to his body from trying a new field technique. Perhaps it was like working a muscle – you had to hurt before you got stronger.

In an act of pure bravado, he focused on the next four stones and swept his arms out in a series of four rapid punches. Each punch released a burst of energy, each burst tagging a stone and blasting them away. A little cheer rose up from the Twins, impressed with his newfound power. He felt like cheering himself, considering how quickly he was picking up on this…

Then it hit like a brick to the back of his head.

No longer limited to a fainting feeling, he felt his left arm blaze with pain. It spread to his chest, where the pain made him sink to his knees and cry out on reflex. Then it tugged at his stomach, nearly making him release his meager breakfast back into the world. This was nothing like he'd ever felt before. Getting grazed by the Scouring was less painful than this.

In full panic, he cried out for help, but his voice dried up long before it left his mouth. He thought he heard Adon's voice asking what was wrong, thought he heard Hiccup yelling his name. Then he felt his body thud to the ground before he felt nothing more.

* * *

Consciousness was a gradual process this time out, and his hearing came back before he could muster the energy to open his eyes. His body tingled strangely, which was bad in its own right, but the conversation he overheard before his eyes worked again didn't help matters at all.

"Are you sure this is right?" said Tuffnut, his voice very close.

"Yes," said Ruffnut, also very close. "I'm pretty sure we're supposed to do it like this."

"Yeah, but _this_ high?"

"Yeah, _that_ high. His heart needs all the blood it can get."

"But he's not cut. His blood isn't going anywhere."

"Look, who's been to the healer's house more often, you or me?"

_Nominal respiratory rate reestablished,_ chimed in Proto, his voice sounding like it was coming from directly above Nestor. _Cardiac rhythm now at average cycle. _

"Is there any way to make it stop saying things like that?" said Tuff.

A rapid fluttering sound closed in and abruptly ceased, followed by a voice that clearly belonged to Hiccup. "I'm back. I couldn't find any… Tuff, what are you doing with his legs?"

Nestor forced his protesting eyes to open and see what damage the Twins were doing to him. Tuffnut was standing over him and holding his legs straight up and down, like he was preparing to work a butter churn. That explained why they felt number than usual. Still, overall he wasn't in bad shape. Somebody had placed a rolled-up shirt under his head, and the drop-you-in-your-tracks pain episode he had experienced seemed to have left him.

"Her idea," said Tuff, nodding his head at his sister. Ruffnut had knelt down near Nestor's head, probably to keep an eye on his breathing, but her attention was naturally on her brother. Nestor couldn't see Hiccup from his limited point of view.

Proto's tri-eyed head hung over him like a funky chandelier, his eyes staring right into Nestor's face. If he wasn't so used to the Guardian's inquisitive nature by now, he might have found this disconcerting.

"Hey, he's awake," said Ruffnut once she noticed Nestor's eyes were open. She leaned over him and smiled. "See, it worked. We saved his life."

_Human Nestor, can you respond verbally?_ asked Proto.

"Ah… yes, I hear you," said Nestor. "How long was I out?"

Ruff and Tuff exchanged uncertain looks. "Were we supposed to keep track?" said Tuffnut.

_12 minutes, 46 seconds_, answered Proto.

"Showoff," retorted Ruffnut.

"Tuff, I think you can let his legs go," said Hiccup from off to Nestor's left. Tuff shrugged and did so, only without the part where he carefully laid them back down. Nestor winced slightly as his boots impacted the dirt.

Hiccup let out an exasperated sigh and came into view, standing over Nestor with a worried glint in his eyes. Toothless moved in as well, sniffing at Nestor for a moment before concluding he was out of danger and backing off to watch the gathering from the sidelines.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

Nestor sat up and shooed away Proto's head, the machine retracting it back to a normal length. He tested his command over his body and found it the same as before. "Like someone gave my insides a good squeeze. But I feel okay now."

"I doubt you're okay," said Hiccup. "You just up and collapsed. You freaked us out pretty badly. Proto was so worried he broke off his analysis to focus on you."

Nestor looked confused. "I don't think Proto 'worries,' Hiccup." He then glanced at Proto. "_Did_ you worry?"

_This unit perceived danger to Human Nestor,_ Proto explained. _Command structure required actions taken to keep Human Nestor functional._

"What about your analysis of the conduit device?"

_Ongoing, but at reduced efficiency._

"Get back on it, Proto," ordered Nestor. "That's what matters. I'll be okay now."

_Human Nestor suffered myocardial infarction, _said Proto. _Human Nestor needs to be monitored for reoccurrence._

"I… have no idea what you just said," replied Nestor.

"Welcome to the club," said Tuffnut.

"He said you had a heart attack," said a new voice. This one belonged to Adon, the little dragon gliding in from the side and landing next to Hiccup. "Hiccup and I went to look for any herbs that might help, but nothing grows around here. Good thing you bounced back on your own."

"Wait a sec," said Hiccup, newly disturbed by Adon's words. "He had a _heart attack?_" He wasn't the only one to look disturbed. Nestor in particular seemed especially stricken by the news.

Ignoring Hiccup, Adon proceeded to look Nestor up and down, like a healer might while diagnosing a patient's disease. There was a hint of guilt in his eyes, but only a hint. "You seem fine. You still have that healthy glow."

"Healthy glow?" said Nestor, his voice rising. "That's your healer's opinion? How did I have a heart attack? I'm too young and too full of Hyperion essence to have a heart attack."

Adon sat back on his haunches, that hint of guilt remaining on his face. "I suspect that it was your attempt to project your barrier field that did it. I wondered why Arc wasn't teaching you the trick. He's been around humans a lot more than I have. He'd know what you could take and what you couldn't."

"What does that mean, exactly?" said Nestor.

Adon sighed in that way healers do when they have bad news to relate to a patient. "There are reasons why humans can't become Hyperions, kid. The essence within us was created to be compatible with a dragon's physiology. If any human took in the full extent of an essence, it would toast him from the inside out. We thought it was crazy for Arc to give you what power he did."

"But didn't Cervantes absorb an entire essence?" asked Hiccup. "You know, from Latimar?"

"Latimar?" asked Tuffnut, already lost on the discussion and getting more lost by the second.

"He means Red Death," said Ruffnut. "Remember, the big queen dragon we fought at Dragon Island…"

"He wasn't a queen, and his name was Latimar!" interrupted Adon, bristling at the turn in the conversation. He then gave another bristling look at Hiccup. "And no, smarty pants, Cervantes didn't absorb it. He drained it from Latimar and took a little bit into himself, but most of the essence he diverted into his bone collection. He was a blossoming necromancer when he attacked Latimar, used his death-art talent to store all that energy for creating abominations. If he'd tried taking it all in, he'd be nothing but ash and Arc wouldn't have had to spend three centuries hunting him down."

Adon looked at Nestor again, his anger subsiding as that glint of guilt returned. "I think you strained your system when you tried to exert your field past your body. But it looks like it was only temporary, which means you shouldn't have to worry about having more heart attacks as long as you don't use that technique."

"Sound advice," said Nestor, not feeling at all comforted. "I'll stick to what I know."

"Good idea," said Adon. "And… when we see him next, please don't tell Arc that I almost killed his pupil. He'd never let me here the end of it."

"I'll think about it," said Nestor in a neutral tone, standing up and brushing off his clothes.

"You're sure you feel alright?" said Hiccup. "If you want to go lie down…"

Nestor shook his head. "Takes more than a heart attack to make me take a breather. I need to get Proto back on…"

The rest of his words were drowned out by a sudden peal of thunder, so close that it felt like an invisible thunderstorm was right on top of their heads. Everyone covered their ears reflexively, Barf-Belch and Toothless growling in surprise and twisting their necks to the sky.

A flash of brilliant lighting lit across the sky for a brief second, and as it faded a dark dragon form materialized along its path. The friendly face of Lothar descended from on high, this time without any passengers.

"Geez, Skrills really know how to make an entrance," commented Ruffnut.

The Skrill flew in a rush, no leisurely gliding or taking caution by Shrouding. He zeroed in on Adon's position and landed in front of the group, eschewing his usual friendly greetings by addressing Adon directly.

"I see you have made progress in your travels," said Lothar. "But ve vill have to divert for now. I need you to come vith me." He gave the group a quick look. "All of you should come."

"Lothar, what's happened?" asked Hiccup.

Instead of looking at Hiccup, Lothar turned his spike-rimmed neck Nestor's direction, his eyes conveying intense worry.

"I have found Arc," he said. "And he is not vell."

* * *

Nestor was on Proto's back and airborne before Lothar could blurt out another word. The rest quickly followed, Adon hopping a ride on Lothar as the Skrill took lead. They flew close formation so that Lothar could talk as they rode the wind, their direction eschewing the coastline and heading straight out to sea.

Lothar told the tale of how he had just successfully met another Hyperion and had given him traveling instructions when he felt a distant impulse from across the Mediterranean Sea, a cry of agony that carried through the mutual link all Hyperions shared. Hyperions always knew if the others were alive or dead, as well as a general homing sense that gave them the ability to find one another, though it wasn't strong enough to give them an exact location. That is, unless you were Lothar. Lothar felt the link more acutely than any other Hyperion, thanks to his species' affinity with all forms of energy, natural and mystical.

Because Lothar was capable of traveling vast distances extremely quickly, he was the go-to Hyperion for delivering messages and setting up Hyperion Gatherings. It also allowed him to respond the quickest when one of them was in great distress, and so he immediately "rode the lightning" to a location above the churning waters where he felt the pulse of pain take place. After a few hours of frantic searching, he found Arc floating on the surface of the ocean, injured and barely keeping his head above water.

It took an act of great determination, but Lothar managed to drag Arc through the waters and to the closest piece of land available, a little sandbar that would submerge with the tide. Thankfully they had half the day before that occurred. Lothar was then forced to leave Arc to get the required help, and he had exhausted all his lightning getting back to the group.

What had taken Lothar only minutes of travel time now took hours instead. But there was no complaining as the companions sped across the sea, the sun playing hide-and-seek through the gaps in the cloud cover above them. They had a friend who needed them, and time was in short supply.

About three hours into the flight, Hiccup flew Toothless close to Nestor and Proto, staying within discussion-distance of the Guardian. Proto paid him no heed, his head fixed forward and his tentacles retracted to reduce drag. Nestor's face was creased with worry, and for good reason. Lothar made it sound like Arc had taken a serious fall, so serious that if the dragon had been a member of Hiccup's village it would've been put down out of mercy.

Nestor noticed Hiccup's approach and spoke first. "Proto's still monitoring the conduit," he said unenthusiastically. "If I hear anything…"

"I asking about _you_ this time," said Hiccup. "Are you alright?"

"You're asking me that a lot lately," said Nestor.

"You just had a heart attack and found out Arc is in trouble. I think it's okay if we focus on you right now."

"Arc will make it," said Nestor, failing to make his words come off convincing. "He always does."

"Nestor…"

"Hiccup, I'm _okay_," Nestor insisted. "Or I will be, once we find Arc. Keeping an ear out for new messages from the conduit gives me something to do. So don't worry about me. You have enough on your plate as is."

Hiccup was about to protest further when Lothar veered to the right and began diving towards a distant spot of land in the middle of the ocean, causing everyone to follow along and forcing conversations to halt. Hiccup locked away his thoughts for later. His friend couldn't skirt his concerns forever, but they definitely had more important things to attend to right now.

* * *

The sandbar barely held any dry sand, most of it soggy and squishy. Arc occupied the majority of the dry section, his tail dipping into the lapping surf as he laid on his side, his eyes closed and his breathing rough and ragged. His left wing and both left legs were extended and useless, broken from the impact with the surface of the ocean. He also had a few internal fractures, not yet life threatening but enough to make every breath a world of pain.

He tried to force the pain into a distant place, to occupy his mind with a recounting of his epic battle with a giant squid centuries ago, but the pain was too sharp to ignore completely. The best he could do was minimize it, keep his broken limbs from touching anything, but since it hurt to touch the very air itself, it was a losing contest from the start.

Given time, he'd heal up. Weeks, maybe even months of time would do it, but he didn't have the time. He was worn out from his efforts to keep afloat and when the sea came forth to swallow up the sandbar it would claim him as well. If he hadn't found this sandbar before his energy had utterly fled, he would have already joined the kingdom of Neptune as a permanent resident.

He thought he had a dream where Lothar had come to save him, but it was hazy and disjointed. A foolish hallucination brought on by a lack of air while he had struggled to swim. Lothar was in another part of the world, playing messenger for the Hyperions. He had no reason to fly around these parts.

He thought of Nestor again. He often did in the rare times when the world was calm and uncomplicated. And when he did think of Nestor the same question always found a way to wriggle into his thoughts.

Did he make a mistake with Nestor?

Was he right to have given Nestor his barrier field? Had it been his place to turn Nestor's life forever upside down, having him play in the fields of the Hyperion, risking his life on a regular basis. The decision haunted Arc. Every day he thought of it. Every day he considered his decision and judged himself poorly. He had wanted Nestor to live, but in doing so he destroyed Nestor's chances at ever being happy and accepted. Stuck him in a place no human should have to go. Forever branded him an outsider… an Outlander.

Nestor didn't think of it as a mistake. Nestor believed in the Hyperion ideals, saw his power as a tool to help others. He was a rare one, Nestor. A thousand other humans put in his place would have self-destructed, or become cruel monsters like Cervantes. Nestor said he accepted where his life was headed, but he was young and the young have foolish dreams about so many things.

If he could see him one more time before it was over, he'd tell him… he'd tell him that he…

"OLD MAN!"

He hadn't thought it possible to fall asleep, considering the constant agony all along his left flank, but he had drifted off just the same. He opened his eyes and found his boy staring at him, Nestor's hands on the side of Arc's face, the boy looking so distraught he was close to crying. Arc couldn't even feel his hands through the renewed agony of his injuries.

Maybe he wasn't even there. His mind's parting gift to him as he finally slipped away to meet his ancestors…

"Old Man, say something!"

For a hallucination, he was being rather insistent. The clouds in Arc's mind finally parted and painful, painful reality returned to him in full. Arc took a good look at his loving protégée, who was somehow here despite the odds, and decided that if this was a hallucination, it was one he could live with.

"My boy?" he asked.

Hearing Arc's voice, as strained as it was, triggered a teardrop to fall down Nestor's face. "Still here, Old Man."

Arc managed a smile. Same old Nestor. "We… really should stop meeting like this."

Nestor had a short laugh despite a few new tears welling up. "Seems like one of us is always lying down on the job. Maybe we need a new line of work."

Arc might have laughed under different, less painful circumstances. "How… what happened to you?"

"Trust me, there'll be explanations later." Nestor paused a moment, then added: "What about Saga and the others?"

Arc's smile slipped away. He hadn't forgotten them, but it was hard to think of others when your present reality consisted of a never-ending festival of agony. "They are… on Sanctuary Island. We found the Alchemist's base. She… she lives, Nestor. Did this to me."

Nestor's face darkened at the news. "We suspected she was still alive."

He finally realized that it wasn't just the two of them. Past Nestor, there was the familiar sight of friends old and new. Lothar and Adon were here, walking toward him through the soggy parts of the sandbar. There was Hiccup and Toothless, standing on the opposite side of the sandbar along with a Zippleback and two other Viking teens who Arc recognized as… oh, joy, _those_ two…

And not far behind Nestor, there was a Guardian. It was just standing there, a half-formed lump of myssteel with tentacles and glowing eyes.

"Do you… realize there's a Guardian behind you?" said Arc.

Nestor made a lopsided grin. "Like I said. Explanations later. We need to fix you up first."

"No… you need to go save the others. Her armada… will be returning…"

Arc could see the conflict in Nestor's eyes. He _did_ want to go to the rescue. But Nestor shook his head, denying Arc's words and his own heart. "I'm not leaving you like this."

"You _need_ to," insisted Arc. "Provided that… what I'm seeing aren't hallucinations, I suspect I'm in good hands."

"Ah, Archibald," said Lothar as he came up to Arc's side. "You finally listened to me for once and stayed in place. And so ze sea did not claim you."

Baffled at first, Arc then recalled his hazy Lothar dream. Not a dream at all, apparently. "I owe you, apparently. I… suppose I can't mock you now… for being a lightning dragon that can't shoot lightning."

"And you won't be able to mock me for size jokes, either," said Adon, shaking his head sorrowfully. "By my Ancestors, you're a mess."

"What happens now?" said Nestor. "We move him?"

Lothar shook his head. "His condition is too serious. Ve must conduct ze Rejuvenation here. If ve are lucky, ve vill beat out ze tide."

Nestor made an uncertain face. "That one's new to me."

"Remember, Hyperions are all bound by the same essence, the same life force," said Adon. "A group of us can channel part of our essences into one of our own to aid in healing. It takes time, but we can heal a body in hours what would normally take weeks."

"Can I help?" said Nestor in a hopeful tone.

Adon looked extremely reluctant to say yes, but then Lothar chimed in. "It is not harmful to zose zat participate. You carry part of Arc with you, so it only makes sense zat you assist."

"Right," said Adon agreeably. "Like he said, you can do it… safely." Arc thought he caught a strange worried look on Adon's face for a second, but he was in too much agony to really care. As Nestor continuously repeated, explanations later.

"Nestor… cannot be part of this," said Arc. "He has… other matters…"

"Arc, shut up for once!" blurted out Nestor. "I can't help them from here, but I can help you."

"My boy…" Arc gave him a patient, warm smile. "I know you feel like you're abandoning me. But… there is little you can do for me right now."

"Zis vould still go faster if ve had…" started Lothar, but then he looked up at something in the sky behind Arc, his face brightening. "Oh, speak of ze devil."

A large shadow passed over the entire sandbar as something huge flew overhead. It soon came into Arc's line of sight and Arc quickly recognized the dragon in question. Lothar must have had to pull out every sob story and favor he had in him, because it couldn't have been easy to get Kestrel to leave his home in the Black Forest.

* * *

Hiccup, the Twins, and their dragons were content to stay on the safer side of the sandbar while the Hyperions (and Nestor) had their reunion. Hiccup felt a little left out of the proceedings, but there wasn't much assistance he could give outside of keeping the Twins from doing something stupid. All he knew was that Arc was in a very bad shape, and that they were about to pull off some powerful magic to put him back together. If Vikings had that ability, the market on false limbs would have disappeared long ago.

Then the Timeberjack showed up and things managed to get even more incredible.

Hiccup had seen a Timeberjack once before, but he was still amazed by the physiology of the creature. It was easily one of the biggest dragons in existence, its wingspan wider than two Monstrous Nightmares flying side-by-side. That was how massive its bat-like wings were, which composed ninety percent of its body. The torso was a thin, limbless thing that resembled a segmented worm until you reached its neck. The neck was snaky and flexible, lined with a row of spikes on its back, and ended in a typical dragon skull with similar angular contours to a Nightmare. It had a pair of mountain goat horns on the back of its skull, and its tail was prehensile and useful for grabbing things below it or balancing its body on the rare moments when it walked the earth.

What made the Timberjack unique wasn't just its body-to-wing ratio. The edges of those wings were incredibly sharp, and they could cut through wood faster than the sharpest axe ever made. Timberjacks hunted around forests and had a tendency to lop off the tops of trees as they pursued four-legged prey. If you ever stumble across a spot in a forest where all the trees in the area are surprisingly short, you've hit the hunting grounds of a Timberjack.

This Timberjack was a long ways from any forest, but at least it was in a peaceful mood as it glided in over the water. With little dry land available, it settled on a water landing, splashing as it hit the shallow waters around the sandbar. It lowered its wings and used them to crawl ungainly up to the other Hyperions, and since there wasn't anywhere dry for it to stand it stayed half-in and half-out of the water.

Hiccup saw the dragon bow as a courtesy, though he didn't say any words of greeting. He did hear Adon refer to him as "Kestrel." There was little conversation after that, the Hyperions getting down to the business of healing their comrade. Adon, Lothar, and Kestrel surrounded Arc while Nestor stayed at Arc's front, cradling the injured dragon's head with his hands.

The dragons all closed their eyes and bowed their heads, and then Adon began to speak in a strange tongue that reminded Hiccup of the old Ancient Artisanie speech that he heard Nestor practice from time to time. Hearing the tongue-clicking, dog-braying language of the ultra-sophisticated Artisans out loud made one wonder if the Artisans had put all their gray matter into living metal and teleportation and forgot to make a decent language. It was also shocking to hear it spoken by a Hyperion. He figured the Ancestors had their own language and that the Hyperions would've used that instead. Then again, the Artisans and Ancestors had lived and worked together for a long time, so it was possible that they developed a mutual language.

This was a long way of saying that Hiccup had no idea what Adon was speaking.

As Adon spoke his alien words, the Hyperions began to develop an aura around them, a deep rich orange glow that radiated like heat from a hot coal. The auras grew larger and spread out from their bodies, intermingling with each other. A web of energy covered them, binding them together, flowing around them all.

Adon stopped talking once the auras were established, and that was the last eventful part of the Rejuvenation for some time. The auras would ebb and flow as if blowing the breeze, or pulse suddenly for no discernable reason, but otherwise the interconnected energy simply… maintained. Apparently it would stay like this, the dragons fixed in place around their wounded comrade, until Arc was healed or something forced them to break it off. It was anyone's guess how long that would take.

More waiting. Just great.

Hiccup's little gathering watched it all with varying degrees of interest. Toothless and Barf-Belch seemed unusually drawn to the proceedings, as if the Hyperions were doing irresistibly fascinating dragon stuff. The Twins marveled a bit, then got bored. Hiccup could barely keep focused, finding himself staring at Proto, who was standing not far from his designated human and observing the process with his usual clinical fashion. Proto was the key to saving Astrid, but the machine was never going to get around to it with all these interruptions.

Hiccup mentally winced at that last thought. Nestor and Arc weren't "interruptions." His friends' health weren't inconveniences. As much as he missed Astrid, as much as he wanted to rush off to save her, he must never, ever forget that.

"How do you do it, Hiccup?" Ruffnut suddenly asked, jogging Hiccup from his ruminations.

"Do what?" he replied.

"How do you take in all this crazy stuff and not go crazy yourself?" she elaborated. "Living machines, talking dragons, magic stuff. How do you… deal?"

Hiccup gave her a half-smile. "I guess you get used to it. Roll with what you can understand and try not to get too frustrated by what you can't."

"It's exhausting," said Tuffnut, groaning for emphasis. "Flying a dragon – easy. Beating up on other people – easy. When do we do _that _stuff again?"

"Trust me, you guys are going to get plenty of that," said Hiccup. "And you two shouldn't be so hard on yourselves. You've handled all this pretty well, all things considered."

"You're just being nice," said Ruff forlornly. "We've been in the way more than we've helped."

"That's not true, Ruff," Hiccup said, his tone completely honest. "You know what really keeps me sane? You guys being here. Besides Toothless, you two are the only normal people from home I have in my life right now."

"So normal is… good?" said Tuffnut.

"In this case, it's good," said Hiccup.

"What about your pal Nestor?" said Tuffnut. "You hang with him more than us."

"Nestor's great, but I didn't grow up with him. And though he tries hard not to, he keeps dragging me further and further away from home. Astrid… she was here to remind me why I came out with Nestor in the first place. So until we get her back, that's you two's job. You get to keep things 'normal.'"

Tuffnut seemed to take comfort in his words, but Ruffnut wasn't going for it. "But I didn't want things to be 'normal.' I don't want to go back to Berk and have everything be the same as before."

"This again?" said Tuffnut, groaning in exasperation.

Ruffnut glared at her brother. "Oh, I'm sorry if my quest for self-improvement irritates you." She made a fist to punch him, then looked down at her fist with a look of disappointment and released her fingers. She looked at Hiccup. "See? My first reaction is still to throttle him. What's changed for me?"

"You tried to help Nestor today instead of laughing at his misery," said Hiccup. "I'd call that a change."

"That's because she _loves_ him," teased Tuffnut.

This time, her fist stayed formed and found her brother's helmet, clanking hard on the metal and knocking Tuffnut dizzy for a moment. Then she looked back at Hiccup with a goofy grin. "Well, maybe 'normal' _is_ good sometimes."

Hiccup's attention moved back to Nestor, who had finally forced himself to stand up and leave Arc's side. He gave Arc's face a gentle rub and then walked away, though he only got a few steps before Proto said something to him. Nestor's face changed from solemn to hopeful in the blink of an eye, and Hiccup felt his mood immediately improve. His suspicions were confirmed when Nestor and Proto walked over to them and told them the big news.

Hiccup heard the words, but he had stopped listening after the first few sentences. Most of Nestor and Proto's speech became little more than background noise, as inconsequential as the ocean breeze. He'd pick up the details later. He had a thought locked in his head that repeated over and over, like an amateur minstrel that only new one song. But in this case, he didn't want it to stop. It became his prayer to the Gods, to the Fates, to what powers bothered to listen to the minds of poor boys like him.

_I'm coming, Astrid. Please don't let me arrive too late._


	13. A Fitting Title, Part One

**Author's Attempt At Being Grandiose: **And here... we... go.

**Chapter Twelve: A Fitting Title, Part One**

People don't really fear flying – they fear the _potential falling_ that goes with it. And if you planned on making a lifestyle out of riding a beast that used flying as its means of transportation, it was a fear you had to nip in the bud.

Astrid didn't think she had any fear of flying left in her until she spent a good six hours aboard the Hunter platform, where she concluded that it was more a trust issue than a fear of falling. It was the most nerve-wracking flying she'd ever experienced, with Linebreaker almost flipping them over half-a-dozen times, Linebreaker almost crashing them into the sea eight times, and Linebreaker almost having a nervous breakdown once.

If not for Heather and her tips on harness control, one of those fourteen near misses would have done them in for sure. Heather came through again, calming the supremely stressed-out Captain and giving him quick lessons on how the harness responded to tactile commands. She was no expert, but between her and Linebreaker the platform avoided a fatal crash. It may have flown like a drunken seagull most of the time, but at least it flew.

Everyone else could do little more than hang on for dear life and keep an eye out for pursuers. Astrid kept expecting to see a fleet of Hunters closing in or maybe one really irate half-metal Night Fury bearing down on them. Linebreaker wasn't pushing the platform very hard, since he barely had control of it at half-speed. It wouldn't take long for the Alchemist's forces to catch up with them at the rate they were traveling.

But for all its ulcer-creating anxiety, their escape had a happy ending, or at least a happy breather. Over five hours into the flight, with sundown commencing and the anxiety levels increasing as a result, the companions found land at last. A section of coastline with tall cliffs and foggy disposition beckoned to them, and they all let out a sigh of relief as they cleared the sea and found grassland flowing by below them. It didn't occur to anyone until later that they had traded the softer (and more survivable) surface of the ocean for the rigid earth in the event that Linebreaker crashed them, but mercifully no one was cruel enough to point that out.

Linebreaker wanted down… adamantly. He had done his duty, he declared, not to mention that his body was stiff from standing the whole time and his nerves were nonexistent. But Saga argued that they needed a secure place for the night, further inland and as rugged as possible. It would give them a place to hide and discourage easy pursuit. This was when Linebreaker had his almost-nervous-breakdown, and it was a combination of soothing words from Qiao and Heather that kept him from killing them all at journey's end.

Just before the light of day disappeared on them, Saga spotted an adequate location. There was a tiny clearing nestled on the top of a large hill, right next to a copse of evergreens that was ringed by dramatic cliffs to all sides save the northern approach. It was miles inland and afforded a great view of the sea, allowing for easy detection of flying or seagoing pursuit vessels. There were logs and boulders strewn about, and the copse allowed for camouflage and shelter. The slope to the north was gentle and would grant them a feasible way off the hillside.

Linebreaker's landing was much smoother than previous efforts, but he couldn't have cared less about his improved flying skill as he jumped off the platform, found the nearest pine tree available, and hugged it like he was hugging his venerable mother. Then he tore off his harness and jumped on it a couple dozen times, scuffing it pretty badly.

Before the companions could relax, there was one final matter to address. During the wild flight, Heather had explained that the Alchemist had the means to track the gems she used in her devices. Thanks to her ample time as a storeroom guard, she knew that this wasn't just a rumor used by the Alchemist to discourage theft. It meant that they had to get rid of any devices that used her gems, or dispose of the gems inside the devices.

Qiao confirmed Heather's concerns with what little she knew of True Alchemy, and she also came up with a diversionary plan. Since Linebreaker refused to don the control harness ever again, it was Heather who took up the reins of the platform. After securing Heather's Berserker harness aboard the platform so that it didn't fall off too soon, Heather sent the unmanned platform back into the sky. She was far less capable with it than Linebreaker, and it flew upside down for most of its ill-fated trip, but since she wasn't trying to land it properly it didn't matter.

From their cliff side vantage point, the exhausted companions watched the Hunter slip away into the distance, flying west along the coast. It had shrunken to a speck when it disappeared altogether, accompanied by the echo of a distant crash. It had to have been miles and miles away when it went down, and it would hopefully lure any pursuers in the wrong direction.

Finally, the platform harness itself was rent asunder by Saga's twin daggers, the central stone cleaved in two like a ripe melon. The depowered halves of the gem were tossed off the cliff for good measure.

And that, it seemed, was that.

* * *

While it was a stretch to say that anyone in the group felt _safe_, the companions did feel safer than any other time in the last two days. With the increased feeling in safety came the increased awareness of how fatigued everyone was, and slumber time wasn't far past sundown.

Astrid built a fire underneath the cover of the local evergreens while the others scrounged their supplies for edibles. They had grabbed what they could carry from Linebreaker's vessel, which wasn't much, and most of their assembled rations proved to be dried meats and a few oranges that hadn't spoiled yet. It was enough for a day or two of wilderness travel, and Saga was certain that she could bring in some fresh meat along the way. Still, it was hardly the victory feast their stomachs were craving.

A watch was set for a two-hour rotation, and Saga took the first turn. She sat upon a handy boulder overlooking the mountainous cliff next to their camp, away from the security of the fire so that her night vision wouldn't be impeded. There was little need for firelight tonight, as a half-moon had come out to shine its white luminance on the coastline. Saga could see any dangers coming from the sea from miles away.

Despite the successes of today's battles, she felt very uneasy. Inwardly, she was thrilled to have Astrid back, but she feared that the cost of her friend's return was the Hyperion's life. There had been no sign of the dragon since they left Sanctuary Island, and while it was unrealistic to expect that Arc would magically know their location and follow them, she kept hoping that he would suddenly materialize in the sky and soothe her conscience. The dragon was not exactly a friend, but he was an ally, and it was dishonorable to leave allies to fend for themselves, even when they were as powerful as Hyperions were.

And then there was Hiccup and Nestor…

A rustle from behind caught her attention, but caused no alarm in her mind. The casual rhythm of the footsteps indicated it was one of her companions, and she had a pretty good idea who it was.

"Lovely night," said Astrid, moving up to sit on an adjacent boulder near Saga. She had her myssteel axe with her, a fair precaution considering their predicament.

"Trouble sleeping?" said Saga, keeping her eyes to the horizon as a good watcher should.

"I don't think I've slept in two days," said Astrid. "But I just can't sleep. It feels… wrong to sleep. Do you know what I mean?"

"You worry for him," said Saga. "You desire to push forward and find the one you love, or to know he is okay."

Astrid sighed. Saga, as blunt as ever, had hit the nail on the head once again. "I don't suppose you've had a vision of him lately."

"No," affirmed Saga. "The visions rarely work that conveniently."

"They led you to me, though," said Astrid.

"They led me to the Alchemist's base. I did not know you were there, you and your new friend."

"Heather? She's not new, exactly. She's more a distant friend. I didn't talk about her before because she was out of my life for a time."

"And you trust her?"

Astrid paused, trying to put together a carefully worded honest answer. "I trust her these days."

Saga glanced at Astrid briefly before resuming her vigilance. "Interesting answer."

Astrid decided that the subject could really use some changing. "No Arc, huh?"

"No," said Saga. "The likelihood of him stumbling upon our position is remote."

"I'm sure he's okay," Astrid said, her words sounding hollow even to her. "Qiao took the decision pretty hard. Did something happen between them while I was gone?'

Saga gave Astrid a longer glance this time. "Qiao… and _Arc?_"

Astrid took a second to consider how silly the idea sounded. "Okay, so a human and a dragon… in that way? It does seem a little ridiculous."

"Only because Arc and Qiao have very divergent goals in life," said Saga.

Astrid raised her eyebrows. "_That's_ what bothers you about it?"

"Life is full of odd pairings," said Saga. "The heart steers us in strange directions."

"Don't I know it," said Astrid. She gave the half-moon a wistful gaze, hoping to see a familiar dark form silhouetted against it, flying by so fast that it'd barely register in your mind. But the moon was alone in the sky tonight, and she suspected it would stay that way.

"Odin's beard, this sucks," declared Astrid. "Right now, I'd give anything to know if Hiccup was okay, just so I could get some sleep."

"Is it worth it?"

Astrid looked back at Saga, her eyes narrowing at the question. "What, love?"

"Is it worth it?" said Saga plainly. "I ask because you seem to be suffering as a result of your love for Hiccup. Would it not be easier to avoid it?"

Astrid felt her face warm up, her anger beginning to stew. She'd had more than enough commentary on love for one day, thank you. Did Saga and Sheen read from the same warrior handbook, the one saying that love was off the table?

Then Saga looked her direction again, and Astrid's anger disappeared. Saga, an expert at stolid expressions, had a slight wistful look to her. Anyone else who didn't know her would have missed it as standard Saga demeanor, but not Astrid. Something ate at Saga, and Astrid had a good idea what it was.

Saga wasn't commenting on Astrid's love life. She was asking for advice.

"It may seem like a pain right now," said Astrid, "and… it is. Maybe my life would be easier without it. But an easier life isn't the same as a better life. I… I love Hiccup, and for all the times that it hurts, the times when it's wonderful more than makes up for it. I don't think love is something a warrior has to avoid. It's something that gives a warrior a reason to fight."

Saga stared thoughtfully at Astrid for a time, then nodded. "I… will consider your words. But I think it is time you got some rest. We must leave here at sunrise, and it would not help us to have you too tired to function."

Astrid didn't argue, though she doubted sleep would come easy for her. She didn't feel any better than before, no more reassured about Hiccup or her other wayward friends, but at least she was in good company. At least she had good friends around her.

* * *

Sleep did find Astrid… at the worst possible time.

By luck of the draw, Astrid got the final watch shift, the one just before dawn. She had dozed fitfully the rest of the night, and though she took her duties very seriously, no amount of duty could withstand the requirements of the human body.

She did everything she could – pretending that every nocturnal noise was an Outcast Viking lurking in the brush, pinching herself, jogging in place – but all that collected fatigue was weighing on her like a lead overcoat. The air was still and the moonlight peaceful, and all her pals were snoring like wild hogs. She tried counting stars until the sky began to lighten, but it was no good. She was too drowsy to be an effective watchman, and she finally had to sit down to keep herself from falling asleep while standing up and accidentally keeling over the cliff.

She found a rock to lean against that shouldn't have been at all comfortable, yet it did nothing to arrest her journey into dreamtime, her eyes growing heavy and shutting on their own accord. Maybe it'd be okay. Sunrise was only an hour away. What were the chances something would happen?

She didn't dream at all, at least nothing that actually _was_ a dream. She did have a moment when she thought she heard a strange humming sound, like a swarm of bees was flying around her head, and there was yelling and loud exclamations and the closing footsteps of someone rushing up to her, and then some rather rude jostling of the shoulders and…

"Wake up!" hissed an urgent voice.

Astrid came awake as her warrior instincts kicked in. Heather was right there, one finger on her lips and another pointed toward the sky. Even barely awake, Astrid had the good sense to stay quiet. She followed Heather's finger to the source of their consternation. Indeed, it was the worst possible time to have had a nap.

There was a large stone warship floating in midair, several hundred feet away, suspended before the lightening sky as if mistaking the air for the ocean. It showed its port side to the camp, its hull dotted with holes lined up in symmetrical rows. The deck teemed with soldiers, many racing about on random errands while others stood at their posts.

Astrid hadn't had the disheartening experience of watching the Alchemist's armada take off from Sanctuary Island, but she certainly recognized the vessel. It wasn't parked off the cliff face, as she would've expected. It was positioned north of their camp, over the incline that would've been their route downward. Almost as if the Alchemist's soldiers knew where they were and were cutting off their escape.

Some of the soldiers were happily jumping off the side of the ship, as if going for a swim. But instead of plummeting to their demises, they fell like feathers, their falls slowed as their waist belts glowed a soft aqua-blue. All the jumping soldiers carried weapons and seemed to be in a feisty mood.

"The trees!" Heather whispered. "Quickly!"

Astrid and Heather crept along the boulders, darting between open spaces until they reached the cover of the nearby copse, where Saga, Qiao, and Linebreaker had already staked out hiding spots amongst the foliage. It didn't appear that the warship had their position yet, but there weren't many places to retreat to once they did find them.

"Thanks for the warning, Sleeping Beauty," Qiao said snidely. "You do know what the concept behind sentry duty is, right?" Astrid felt very stupid at that moment, but the one who earned the dirty look from Saga was Qiao.

"Enough, Qiao," said Saga. "Even a warning may not have saved us. They seem to know where our camp is."

"How?" said Heather, looking very frantic. "We got rid of all the gear."

"Did we?" said Saga. "Something must have lured them to us."

Qiao was about to protest this lack of trust on Saga's part when it suddenly dawned on her, and her indignation turned to horror as she grabbed her pack and looked inside. She pulled out one of the memory sticks she had purloined from Alche's private chamber. The gems attached to its two ends were glowing softly, something it hadn't been doing last time she'd looked.

"Oh, no," she said. "C'mon, it's not fair. We needed these things."

"You'd better be right," commented Linebreaker, "because we may end up dying for them."

Saga gave the glowing memory stick an odd look. "Was it doing that before?"

"Glowing?" said Qiao. "Definitely not."

"No… talking," said Saga, her odd look intensifying.

Astrid looked at Saga funny. "Talking? The only person who's talking is you."

"You do not hear that?" she said. "It is the Alchemist's voice, talking over and over, like an echo they never ends."

"This is a bad time to be cracking up," said Heather. "We have more company coming in."

Everyone hunkered down as a trio of shadows flitted across the treetops, first as one tight group and then spreading out over the copse. Saga regained her composure once Qiao hid the memory stick back in her pack, but that was the only spot of good news. The shadows soon slipped away to the south, where their owners revealed themselves to the companions.

Three Hunter platforms roamed the air right above the trees, their long crab legs occasionally snagging the treetops or breaking off branches as they traveled. The cover was bushy and gave them little to look at, but they knew the companions were in there. It was the only place to hide, the only unexposed spot of the hillside.

"Those platforms have to be armed," said Heather. "Heck, the _ship _is fully armed. Why don't they make it easy on themselves and blow our little forest away?"

"I suspect they want Qiao alive," said Saga. "In the past, the Alchemist has taken great pains to ensure her safety. But I doubt that privilege will extend to the rest of us."

"I guess this means Alche won her battle with Cervantes," said Qiao. "Yay?"

"It gives us time we would otherwise not have," said Saga. "But there are dozens of troops on the ground now, and they will be coming for us shortly."

"Anyone know another way off this hill that doesn't involve a short flight and a sudden stop?" asked Linebreaker.

"We could try climbing down the cliff," said Astrid. "But they'd be on us in seconds. I'm _really_ missing my dragon right now."

"I saw what might be a game trail on the other side of the trees," said Heather. "It looked pretty rough, but it'd be safer than the cliff."

"Same problem," said Qiao. "The platforms would be all over us."

"Not unless those platforms had other concerns," said Saga, pulling her daggers free of their sheaths. "Astrid, escort the others to the trail and proceed down it at your best speed. I will stay and hold them off."

Astrid gave Saga a surprisingly blank stare and then did the exact opposite of what Saga had ordered her to do. She took her axe in both hands and dug her heels in, showing no signs of complying in any way.

"You can't handle all of them by yourself," she said. "And I haven't had a good sparring in days."

Saga might have thought her battle-face was in place, but a moment of distress slipped through it. "Sister…"

"No arguments, Saga," Astrid said. "We fight together or we run together. No other way around it."

Saga knew further argument would be pointless. She turned to the others, who were not happy with this self-sacrificial decision-making. "Qiao, I leave the safety of Heather and Linebreaker in your hands. Get them far from here."

"Are you two kidding?" blurted out Qiao. "We're not making abandoning people a habit!"

"Someone has to warn the world about the Alchemist," said Astrid. "It's big picture time, Qiao."

"I just made a bunch of friends," said Qiao, her tone increasingly sad. "You can't ask me to keep turning my back on them."

Astrid gave Qiao a gentle smile. "We are friends, Qiao. And right now, I need you to honor our friendship by doing the right thing."

The moving shadow of one of the Hunters reminded everyone that they didn't have time for more arguing. Qiao gave Astrid a sad smile and said, "You two better be right behind us when this is all over, or I am so not speaking to you two ever again."

As Qiao took up her pack and bow, Linebreaker gave Astrid and Saga a gentlemanly bow. "My ladies, it has been a delight. Please do not break my heart by dying today."

Heather was the last to go, giving Astrid a morose look. "This isn't how I thought this was going to end, Astrid."

"It's not over yet," said Astrid, mustering up her courage. "But… if the worst happens…"

"Don't you dare!" Heather interrupted. "In my village, it's bad luck to tell people what to do in case you die in battle. So… I'll see you later, Astrid."

Heather managed an unconvincing smile and then ran off with Qiao and Linebreaker before Astrid could say anything more. Astrid and Saga watched them go as they disappeared into the foliage, but the sounds of an approaching platoon soon forced them to look away.

The soldiers showed little regard for stealth as they climbed the hill, scrapping rocks with their boots and whooping with the anticipation of combat. They crested over the incline and surged towards the edge of the copse, dozens of them in a loose marching order that spread out as they neared the trees. It wasn't clear that they had seen Astrid or Saga yet, but they would know of them in short order. There was no time for cunning plans or the setting of traps – this was raw battle approaching.

No words passed between Saga and Astrid. There was nothing left to be said. This was what sister-in-arms did, and actions were always louder than words.

* * *

A chess master is someone who understands the nature of pawns and how useful they were at blunting the effectiveness of the enemy before the _real_ pieces went to work. However, neither Cragfist nor Sheen had ever played a game of chess in their lives. Cragfist didn't even know what a chess game looked like and couldn't tell you the difference between a rook and a bishop to save his life.

But they both understood that it was smarter to wear down tough adversaries by using the rank-and-file soldiers first, especially when your future was at stake. Sheen was on too short a leash with the Alchemist to make any mistakes today, and Cragfist's survival depended on the death of his sister.

The two of them had floated to the ground with their air-belts along with the second platoon, the first platoon already climbing up the slope to the clearing atop the hill where their prey was held up. Cragfist had his two-handed myssteel sword in hand as he watched the first platoon enter the copse near the clearing, followed by the reverberations of metal on metal and men crying out in pain.

Sheen stood a dozen feet away, watching her men swarm around her, the second wave set to sprint up the hill once she gave the order. She wore her myssteel chain around her right arm, her left hand holding the trigger that could end Cragfist's life in an instant. She was smart enough to keep a safe distance from Cragfist, both to avoid the flames of his fiery end should she push the trigger, and to avoid an easy stab from Cragfist's sword should he try anything stupid.

Cragfist had considered rushing Sheen and lopping off her left hand on several occasions, but didn't risk it. Sheen was no slouch at battle and she would see him coming long before his blade found her. Not to mention that the sting of her defeat at Astrid's hands had made her extremely unpleasant to be around. She was out for blood, and she wouldn't hesitate to take her share from Cragfist if he gave her a reason.

Sheen wore a gem-encrusted armband on her left arm, similar in design to the one the Alchemist used to communicate with her minions. It kept her in touch with the captain of the _Cauldron_ and the pilots of the Hunters, allowing her to coordinate the operation from a distance. She must have heard news from one of the Hunter pilots, for she touched one of the gems with her right hand while staring off into space for a brief moment.

Not so long ago, the older, more hotheaded version of Cragfist would've tried for Sheen's head while she was distracted. But he was more disciplined now, possibly even wiser. As gratifying as it would be to kill Sheen, he did have a solid objective in mind. For that, he needed to meet his sister one last time, and Sheen's death would not get him closer to his goal.

Sheen's face livened up as she broke off communication. She turned to Cragfist and said, "One of the Hunters spotted Qiao and two others trying to escape toward the cliffs. That means your infuriating sister and that blond-haired brat are the ones beating the snot out of our men. We'll let the first platoon tire them out, then go in and mop up. Once you present the Alchemist with your sister's pretty head, you might even keep yours."

"Shouldn't you be capturing Qiao?" said Cragfist.

"The Hunter crew will bottle her up until I get there. I have a grudge to settle first." The deadly look Sheen gave Cragfist suggested that he'd be wise to not question her further.

Cragfist quietly swallowed his bile as he prepared for the battle ahead. He knew there was no second chance for him. The Alchemist might have been genuine in her offer of mercy should he succeed in killing his sister, but Sheen would not allow him the same courtesy. His only option was to go out as a Viking warrior should – with your weapon in hand and your enemy falling before you.

That moment was rapidly approaching.

* * *

Qiao stared at the little path along the cliff that one could arguably call a trail if you were the size of a mouse. She had thought the rugged path up the low mountain on Sanctuary Island was too difficult to use. _This_ path had to be the cliff's clever way of tricking you into climbing it and subsequently falling off it. This path was the cliff's sadistic sense of humor on display.

Heather and Linebreaker had come to the same conclusion as the three of them stood at the cliff edge, just inside the tree line. The yawning expanse of the valley below and the sea beyond the valley might have been awe-inspiring under better circumstances. Now it was just terror-inspiring.

"It… seemed better at a distance," said Heather.

"So does everything that's terrible," said Linebreaker. "Do we risk it?"

"Do we have a choice?" said Heather.

"I don't think it matters now," said Qiao unhappily. "I think our luck just ran out… again."

A Hunter platform swept by overhead, moving past the cliff a ways before one of its crewmen pointed Qiao's way. The platform swung around and stopped right before them, lowering itself to match the height of its quarry. Qiao could see a few archers at the ready, armed with crossbows that were no doubt tipped with myssteel arrowheads. Even if they weren't, the scatter-cannons ports were open and aimed their direction. There was no way they could escape now, at least not down the cliff face.

"Get behind me," said Qiao, instinctively stepping in front of Linebreaker and Heather. "They can't kill you two without risking me."

That's when Qiao saw one of the crossbows fire, a tiny bolt speeding across the open air and embedding itself in a tree right off to Qiao's side. Shocked that one of the Alchemist's men would be brazen enough to take a shot like that (and also thankful that he wasn't a good aim), she glanced at the projectile sticking out of the tree bark and noticed how much it resembled a short, thin dart instead of your standard crossbow bolt.

"You're certain about that?" said Heather.

An heated argument broke out aboard the platform, the archer having a time of it with a superior officer, thus giving Qiao the few seconds she needed to come to the conclusion that the dart had been meant for her. Few people used darts in combat, but a few thieves resorted to using them when they needed to incapacitate a guard or a mark from a distance. Such darts were laced with a chemical designed to incapacitate whomever it hit for a time. They were highly illegal most places and the practice required the utmost accuracy, so most thieves didn't bother.

Before either the platform's crew or her companions could react, Qiao raised Dragon Fire and summoned an energy arrow into existence. She lined up on the scatter-cannon port and let loose, wincing when her wounded shoulder acted up from the movement. The arrow streaked into the port and disappeared, the crew atop panicking while the archers among them opened fire on reflex, eliciting an angry cry of denial from the same ineffectual superior officer.

The next second brought a number of exciting developments. Chief among them was the side of the Hunter exploding outward, chunks of stone peppering the cliff below and the platform lurching as if struck by a giant invisible hammer. Most of its crew were jerked off their feet as the platform wobbled in the air and sped forward, gaining altitude and speeding overhead, its halfway-capable pilot using the trees as cover from Qiao's murderous bow.

As for Qiao, Linebreaker, and Heather, that exciting second brought a bunch of crossbow-launched darts their way. Heather already had the right idea and ducked behind a fallen log, dragging Linebreaker with her. Qiao also took cover behind the closest tree as darts thunked into bramble and bark around her, swearing through clinched teeth as her bad shoulder collided with the tree.

"Wow, nice shot," said Heather appreciatively.

"Not really," replied Qiao. "It should've blown up in the middle and taken the whole platform down. My shoulder's not helping."

"Uh, Qiao?" Linebreaker pointed to her right leg, which was now adorned with a shapely dart sticking out of it just below her knee. Qiao saw it, groaned, grabbed it with her right hand, and yanked it out in one quick pull, wincing once again as she tossed the dart away.

"Are you alright?" asked Linebreaker. He'd seen the nature of the projectile and he had a good idea of its intended purpose.

Qiao hesitated, sussing out her condition. "Well… actually, I think I might be… no, wait, there went my leg."

Indeed, her right leg had gone numb and she slid down to her fanny, her leg completely unresponsive. She suddenly began feeling a bit groggy as well, the world fuzzy at the edge of her consciousness.

Linebreaker went to her and examined the dart wound, the needle mark welting up. He looked back at Heather with a grave face. "A tranquilizer. There is nothing I can do."

"Worry-wart," said Qiao woozily. "I'm zin the bezt ship-shape… shapey-ship… what waz the question?"

"The question is what do we do now?" asked Heather.

Through the tree cover, the damaged Hunter lingered overhead like a circling raptor. A number of human-shaped objects began to fall off the platform, floating into the trees and then navigating past their thick tapestries of needles. A second platform formed up near the damaged one and proceed to dump its crew overboard as well. Soon the falling soldiers came into sight as they fell to the ground as gently as dandelion puffs, some using the trees to direct their fall.

In short order, there were over a dozen soldiers on the ground, advancing toward Heather and Linebreaker and a half-conscious Qiao, their weapons drawn and their faces eager for blood. Linebreaker drew his cutlass while Heather, having forsaken her one weapon in the futile effort of throwing off pursuit, grabbed a fallen branch.

"The answer to your question," said Linebreaker, "is now sadly obvious."

* * *

Three more soldiers rushed over uneven ground covered in broken weapons and men nursing broken bones. These three soldiers had learned from the last five soldiers who had attacked one at a time, and they rushed Astrid all at once. These three thought themselves wiser. One joint attack and they'd bury her.

They even assumed that the whirling axe going over their heads had been a missed throw. It wasn't until the strong and sizeable branch clunked onto their backs, incapacitating all three of them, that they understood the nature of their blunder.

"Four more on your left!" yelled out Astrid as her axe flew back to her waiting hands. She backed off a few more feet as the encroaching horde of soldiers advanced, forcing her to find a more defensible position.

"On it," yelled Saga, her twin daggers already in motion, swirling through the air with unbelievable precision and cleaving a young tree in half near its roots. The tree toppled sideways with a heavy thud, across the path of the four soldiers, blocking them from flanking her.

Saga dived behind another tree as a new volley of crossbow bolts flew on by, most of them missing by wide margins. The archers were staying back and attempting to plug Saga and Astrid whenever an opening presented itself, but there was too much cover and too many fellow soldiers getting in the way for the archers to be effective. Unfortunately, they were wise enough to keep out of range of Saga and Astrid's weapons.

The volley spent, Saga retreated in tandem with Astrid, leaving behind a trail of soldiers on the ground, most moaning, a few not saying anything at all. The hotheaded troops were thinning out as the more rational ones kept to the central mass of soldiers. While they weren't the most disciplined of warriors, they were staying together as they moved further into the trees. Astrid and Saga had been using the terrain and toppled trees to force the soldiers to come at them in smaller, manageable groups, but the technique only worked once or twice before the main force threatened to flank them, forcing them to retreat.

It was all delaying tactics to allow Qiao, Heather, and Linebreaker to go free. Once they hit the cliffs, they'd run out of room to maneuver. Then they'd have one suitably heroic last stand before the end. It would be a very Viking way to go, though Astrid doubted anyone back at Berk would ever hear her tale.

And yet Astrid found that she didn't honesty care at all if she found glory in today's battle. Fighting itself was ultimately an empty endeavor, the rush wearing off as quickly as it came on, abandoning you to thoughts about the lives that had ended or been changed forever in such a quick span of time. What solace she felt came from believing that her friends would escape and live on. The pride she felt was in standing with Saga, her tutor and friend, taking on superior numbers and making them pay for every step they took.

And there was disappointment. Great disappointment. Because she wasn't going to see Hiccup again after all. Her second chance at life and she was going to fall again without him ever realizing she was still alive. The tragedy of it was too terrible to contemplate, and it was all she could do to keep focused on the here and now, to deny death with every axe throw and every retreat and every second she kept drawing breath.

It may be a very Viking way to go, but it was not the way Astrid wanted to go. Grow old, have children, have a life with Hiccup – that would be a lot better way to go.

Saga and Astrid exchanged brief looks as they caught their breaths, standing at their new defensive location, a short hill surrounded by prickly bushes that afforded only one good path upward. They could use it for a time before the archers moved in, take down a dozen more troops if they were lucky.

Saga looked behind them to assess their next fallback position, but instead she saw a disheartening sight. Astrid noticed her friend's reaction and looked as well. They had retreated far enough into the copse to see the other side, but instead of an empty forest leading up to a hill's fatal edge, they could see a group of soldiers closing in on Heather and Linebreaker and Qiao. Their friends hadn't escaped after all, and they were preparing to meet the oncoming soldiers.

"We have to go help them," said Astrid.

"We do, and the rest of the Alchemist's forces will swarm us all," Saga grimly stated.

"But we can't just…" Astrid started to say, right at the time one of the platforms hovering above their heads decided to up and explode.

It wasn't a simple explosion, either. It was one of those fire-and-brimstone explosions in the sky that makes you think the clouds had run out of water and were resorting to flames instead. The trees recoiled as stone and fire pelted their upper boughs, the remains of the smoking platform falling through the tree cover and careening off a sturdy pine, knocking it askew. The platform met the ground with a humongous bang that stopped the advancing platoon in its tracks, the soldiers suddenly well aware that a serious turn of fortune had just occurred.

Astrid watched the whole thing with unabashed amazement, then looked up to see if the other two platforms might do the same thing. Remarkably, one did a minute later, but before that there was the rapidly-moving figure of a black dragon zooming past a second Hunter, sending the crew into an absolute freak out to the point where a few soldiers were already leaping off the platform.

The soldiers on the ground saw the same dragon as Astrid did, but many of them came to the wrong conclusion initially, arguing with their fellow men-in-arms that it was the Alchemist's pet, Dark Star, coming to assist them and that the platform exploding was coincidental. But this conclusion was utterly destroyed, along with their morale, when a trio of blue-flavored fireballs hit the ground around them, sending flames and smoke and debris spilling everywhere and throwing the semi-organized rabble into total chaos.

For Astrid, the sight of all that smoke, fire, and chaos was old news. But seeing the dragon… the Night Fury… was the most wonderful she'd seen in a long time. She didn't even attempt to contain her excitement as she let out a loud cry, Saga standing in far-quieter amazement at both her friend and their unexpected (and most welcome) reprieve.

"HICCUP!"


	14. A Fitting Title, Part Two

**Chapter Thirteen: A Fitting Title, Part Two**

The damaged Hunter didn't even see it coming. With much of its side exposed by Qiao's explosive arrow, it had precious little protection to stave off a mosquito sting, much less another explosive projectile. So when the plasma blast hit the core of the platform straight on, the platform disintegrated like dirt crumbling into water.

The second Hunter floating nearby had been ordered to send some of its troops down to capture Qiao and kill the rest, so it only had a handful of crewmembers when the first Hunter blew apart. They were so mesmerized by the disaster that they didn't see the Night Fury zoom by until they were feeling the wind of its passing. Two of the five men panicked and jumped, floating down like leaves toward the perceived safety of the ground.

The pilot was a braver soul and brought up the platform's air defenses. With a wave of his hands, dozens of rocks piled on the flattop of the platform rose into the air, spreading out and circling around the crew section. The pilot had been told that these defenses had kept the Night Fury at bay during the Battle of the Repository, and so he felt a lot more secure once the swarm of rocks was orbiting his platform. He almost felt like pursing the Night Fury to do battle, now that the scatter-cannons were activated.

That was when a strange mist came out of nowhere, enveloping the platform in a yellow-green haze that smelled like a basket full of sweaty towels. It came in from above, thick and almost nauseating, obscuring the rest of the world from sight. The pilot's two companions raised their crossbows, expecting trouble. The pilot's optimism swiftly dissolved; a fat lot of good a bunch of swarming rocks did against a fog.

Then the sky above cleared enough that they could see the culprit, the mist-maker in the flesh, and the pilot immediately screamed at the archers not to fire. The two-headed dragon hovered above them, its two identical heads leering threateningly, its two near-identical riders smiling mischievously.

"If I were you three," said Tuffnut, "I'd be jumping right now." To press the point, the dragonhead he rode flicked its tongue at them, sparks shooting out with each flick.

They didn't have to be told twice. The three soldiers took one look at each other, screamed, and jumped overboard, falling through the mist at feather-like speeds.

Barf-Belch waited for the soldiers to fall clear, then lowered its ignition-head and sparked the cloud. The mist instantly transformed into a torrent of fire, surging over and around the Hunter, baking and cracking it in key places. Losing power, it fell through the fading firecloud and plummeted to the bottom of the cliffs hundred of feet below.

"Now that's the kind of 'normal' that never gets old," said Ruffnut, giving her brother a high-five.

* * *

Hiccup barely registered the explosion of the half-dead Hunter before Toothless was barreling past it and coming up on the flying warship. He barely registered the fact that the warship was, in fact, flying. He'd long since stopped having expectations about much of anything. A flying ship was only slightly more incredible than the flying platform he'd just had Toothless blow up. Maybe tomorrow he'd meet an ant that could write poetry, or a yak that ate hot coals.

Hiccup was running on anxiety and determination, two emotions that made admirable substitutions for sleep. Considering that he, Nestor, and the Twins had raced nonstop through the night to get ahead of the Alchemist's forces before they could find Astrid and the others, he was feeling surprisingly little fatigue. It was all that Viking blood in him, and his blood was as fired up as a Viking could get.

Astrid was here, and he was going to save her. It didn't matter if there were a dozen flying warships or a thousand men between him and Astrid. He _was_ going to save her.

The wind buffeted Hiccup mercilessly as he hunkered down to lessen the air resistance. He was glad Nestor had made him put on his myssteel riding armor as hitting a bug at these speeds was likely to put him out of the battle. Toothless was traveling so fast that Hiccup couldn't react quickly enough to give out new orders, but the dragon already knew what needed to be done. Thanks to Proto and his eavesdropping on the Alchemist's conduit network, they already had a semblance of a plan.

Toothless buzzed the warship at such a clip that his passing sent the remaining soldiers onboard ducking and screaming "Night Fury!" instead of opening fire. Toothless didn't give them a chance to react, flying away from the ship as Toothless veered around for another pass of the hillside battlefield.

"That should attract their attention," said Hiccup. "I hope he knows what he's doing."

The "he" in question was Nestor, who was about to do something that Arc would categorically call _very stupid_. At least Nestor had Proto with him, and the machine could work his own brand of magic. Still, he wished Nestor all the luck in the world, because Hiccup and Toothless were needed elsewhere and wouldn't be able to come to his aid if his plan went south.

He looked over the battleground and felt his chest tighten up. Their friends on the ground were being overwhelmed. There was already a platoon of the Alchemist's troops in the forest where Astrid and the rest were hiding, and a second, larger force was coming up the hill. Even with their dragons and all their various powers and skills, Hiccup's rescue team was vastly outnumbered.

"Send them running, Toothless," he ordered.

The dragon did so the best way he could. He lobbed three plasma blasts to the rear of the first platoon, aiming for clear spots to minimize the casualties. Three explosions bloomed in the forest, and the effect was immediate. The soldiers' semi-orderly formation broke apart like dried clay shattering on a rock, many of them running out of the forest and back down the hill, running smack into their reinforcements and causing further delays and disruptions.

A new explosion rang out to Hiccup's left, and he saw the second of the Hunter platforms fall to the ground, coated in thick flames. Ruff and Tuff doing what they did best – causing misery for others.

As the Night Fury banked into another turn, Hiccup almost ordered Toothless to do a second barrage to further disrupt the ground troops, but he reconsidered when he realized how many men he was dealing with. He needed to conserve the firepower for now, as there was also the warship and the third Hunter platform, and he might need Toothless's fireballs to take on those threats.

Instead, he considered the geography of the battlefield… and the fact that there were a lot of trees lying around.

* * *

Sheen and Cragfist had moved to join the rear section of the cannon-fodder platoon to see how well they were fairing against the blond-haired brat and the redheaded Seer, which placed them right where Toothless sent his fireballs. It proved to be a tactical nightmare.

The ensuing chaos sent them diving to the ground, Sheen struggling to bark out orders while her men screamed and ran about like headless chickens. Cragfist had been so near one of the Night Fury's fireball blasts that the skin on his face and arms had reddened from the heat. He even initially thought his medallion had prematurely detonated and that he had somehow survived it. He was thus disappointed when he felt around his neck and found the death-necklace hanging there.

"Get the ship over here and cover us!" shouted Sheen into her armband, a wasted effort as the armband gems projected thoughts and not sound. The captain of the _Cauldron_ was clearly telling her things she didn't want to hear. "What do you mean you don't have air defenses in place?"

Cragfist let himself chuckle, his laughter swallowed up by the bedlam around him. This was how his life worked, how his dealings with his sister had always gone down. She _made _these kinds of reversals happen, as if summoning such bizarre twists of fate with her very nature. Most of the crew of the _Cauldron_ had been so confident in their success that there were running bets on how quickly the Seer and her allies would bite the dust. But then the Dragon Rider shows up to save his friends and all bets were now off.

Cragfist hated that skinny twig-of-a-man, but today Cragfist almost felt like thanking him… though that wouldn't stop him from filleting Hiccup for fish bait if their paths ever crossed again.

Sheen picked herself up and walked over to Cragfist. She was covered in dirt and soot from the dragon's attack, but such grime did nothing to mitigate the pure rage on her face. "Two Hunters are destroyed, and the _Cauldron_'s cannons aren't prepared to take on air targets. If the third Hunter goes down, we're sitting ducks."

"What do you want me to do about it?" chided Cragfist. "I'm fresh out of bola launchers."

Cragfist could see the gears in Sheen's mind working. A more sensible person might have ordered retreat, or at least a regrouping. Her men were way ahead of her, most of them fleeing from the explosions and the falling Hunters and heading down the hill to safety underneath the shadow of the _Cauldron._ But instead of following them, she grabbed Cragfist by the sleeve and dragged him forward, into the woods where Saga awaited.

"We need a hostage to even the odds," stated Sheen. "I'm getting Astrid, and you're helping me, or the next explosion that occurs will be _you."_

* * *

The soldiers surrounding Heather and Linebreaker had some intellect in them, as they approached as a group, ringing their prey from three sides. They were a quartet of archers outside the ring, fitting new darts to their crossbows. Their targets would be Heather and Linebreaker, as Qiao was already out of it. They'd probably drug them into submission and then kill them while they were helpless.

Linebreaker detested the use of shields normally – unwieldy things frequently adorned with vulgar imagery – but he would've put his fashion sense on hold just to have one. It would help against those darts.

One of the archers finished reloading and raised her crossbow, targeting Linebreaker. He readied his cutlass in the vain hope he might deflect it, but someone else beat him to it.

A translucent arrow shot over his shoulder and pegged the archer's crossbow right in the central mechanism. The archer looked at the ruined weapon dumbly, then threw it away when it started glowing ominously. The crossbow flew several feet and exploded into dozens of jagged fragments as it hit the dirt, the blast causing several soldiers to duck for their lives.

"Dere we are," said Qiao, propped up against a tree, looking and sounding more and more like one of Linebreaker's regular pub patrons the longer she stayed conscious. But she held her bow remarkably steady, a mean feat considering her condition.

"Got 'em right between the noses," she added.

Heather was dumbfounded by the expert marksmanship from Qiao. "I hope she meant to do that… and that she can keep it up."

"No worries, boys and not-boys," said Qiao, creating a new arrow and selecting a new target. "I'll take care of them faraway things. You handle all the ones with the pointed sticks." To prove the point, she fired another arrow and blew up a sapling between two other archers, flattening them with the blast.

Speaking of sticks, Linebreaker looked at Heather's crude weapon and cringed. "Oh, that will not do for such a pretty lady as you. I assume you have basic training in combat, considering you're Norse."

"Hey, I resent that," said Heather. "Not all Norse are warriors. A lot of us are farmers and ranchers and traders and…"

"One moment, please," interrupted Linebreaker as one of the foot soldiers rushed him. He parried the man's sword thrust, caught his sword arm, twisted the man's wrist painfully, and held out the helpless man's long sword to Heather.

"Does this work?" he asked.

"Ah… it's a little big for me," said Heather, dumbfounded yet again. Astrid's new friends were certainly not pushovers in a fight.

Linebreaker elbowed his captive into unconsciousness, then immediately did the same move to a second soldier who thought he could stab Linebreaker while he was occupied. Linebreaker inspected his newest captive's short sword, wrinkled his nose, and then knocked the soldier out with his elbow.

"What was wrong with that one?" asked Heather.

"Rusty," said Linebreaker. "One _never_ tolerates rust."

Having not learned from the fates of the first two soldiers, a third one bore down on Linebreaker. This time, Heather reacted first and swung her branch as a bat, clubbing the soldier on the head and laying him low in one blow. She then stooped and plucked up the short sword from the man's loose grasp.

"I'm really not that picky," she said, brandishing the sword in a fighting posture.

Linebreaker laughed as he turned to face the next soldiers. Side-by-side, he and Heather easily held them off, taking down half of them before the remaining troops realized that reinforcements weren't coming and fled.

Qiao did get in a few more shots, keeping the archers occupied until the archers gave up along with the rest. But as Linebreaker went to attend to her, he found she had fallen asleep at some point in the fight, her bow lying limply across her lap and a goofy smile on her face.

* * *

The _Cauldron_ cautiously moved through the air, skirting the edge of the battlefield and keeping its port-side siege cannons at the ready, prepared to fire at the forest where most of the fighting was taking place, provided the order was given. A few remaining archers kept vigil on deck, waiting for the Night Fury to try and sink their flying ship. The eyes of the crew were on the spectacle below them and the airspace above, but no eyes were on the starboard side.

Which was why no one had spotted the pair of hitchhikers clinging to the hull, just below the main deck. More accurately, Proto was clinging to the hull with its four powerful grippers while Nestor rode atop the Guardian. Toothless's diversion had done the job, allowing the two of them to fly up to the warship while the crew was otherwise occupied.

"I told Hiccup I could handle this," Nestor whispered as Proto furtively climbed the hull, making remarkably little noise as they ascended. "Now I just have to figure out how to do that."

_Does Human Nestor desire potential options?_ Proto's words flowed into Nestor's head instead of out loud in order to keep things furtive.

"Ah, yeah," said Nestor. "What do we have?"

_Destabilize hull of vessel with sufficient kinetic force._

"If we had sufficient kinetic force, that'd be great," said Nestor. "It's just you and me, Proto. What can we do?"

_Gain control of vessel's guidance system._

Nestor liked the sound of that option. "If that's what you call the helm, I say we go with that idea. Did you see where said guidance system is?"

_Based on structural pattern of vessel, guidance system is positioned at rear of vessel in elevated position._

Nestor looked the ship up and down, finding what looked like a raised section of the ship, fortified with a few stone barricades. That was probably the place… and of course it was on the other side of the ship from their position.

"Okay, here's the plan," said Nestor. "We'll stop creeping upward and start moving along the side until we reach…"

_ALERT! Detection imminent!_

Nestor screeched in surprise as Proto's warning went off in his head. He tried covering his ears on reflex, but it naturally did no good.

That's when he noticed the third Hunter platform floating not far away. Most of the platform's crew was watching for attacking dragons, but one of them had seen the metal boil on the _Cauldron's_ hull, and was yelling out a warning. The jig was officially up.

"Get us on deck _now!_" shouted Nestor. Proto complied and raced them up the hull like a four-legged spider on a sugar rush.

The Hunter pilot decided to take the initiative and opened fire with a scatter-cannon, the rock projectile colliding with the warship's hull and exploding into pebble-sized shrapnel. The hull absorbed most of it, while Proto took a few hits that did no damage to his myssteel hide. Nestor's barrier field flared as a piece bounced off him, keeping him uninjured but ruining what was left of their subterfuge by announcing his presence to the crew on deck.

"Remember our discussion, Proto," said Nestor once his boots touched the stone deck. He raced for the rear of the ship, moving past open cargo holds and surprised crewmen who hadn't quite pieced everything together. Proto clanked after him.

_This unit cannot harm human organisms per command structure_, Proto unnecessarily reminded Nestor.

"What did I say about that?"

Proto paused as he accessed his memory. _This unit can conduct non-injurious actions in the defense of itself and human organisms classified as allies._

One of the soldiers on deck decided to get in Nestor's way. Nestor removed him with a solid punch. "Right, so… do that."

The first test of this new line of thought came when a group of archers that had been searching for dragons now had their sights on Proto and Nestor. They opened fire and were pretty on target, but their arrows never got there. Two of Proto's tentacles lashed out and caught all six arrows in flight, gripping them hard enough to crack their shafts and dropping the debris to the deck.

Proto then skittered toward the archers, a move that sent them into understandable panic. Proto ignored their cries and plucked all their bows and weapons off their bodies with unreal speed and accuracy, crushing the weapons into uselessness. Once they were all disarmed, he turned his back on them and returned to Nestor.

Nestor watched the short battle and marveled speechlessly, though he did have to toss one soldier aside who hadn't gotten the message about how barrier fields worked and had tried backstabbing Nestor with an ordinary dagger.

_Are this unit's actions acceptable?_ asked Proto as he reached Nestor's position.

"Very much so," said Nestor.

A bell began to ring and a general call-to-arms resounded across the ship as Nestor and Proto neared the elevated deck that housed the "guidance system." A group of five soldiers attempted to get in their way to prevent their access to the fortified deck. None of them had any myssteel weapons, and so none of them had a chance.

With subtlety no longer required, Nestor had Proto tear down the closest barricade for a quicker entrance. Beyond the barricade was a pair of crewmen, one manning a device that resembled a pair of shackle-like sheathes that you put your arms through, attached to the deck through metal poles. The wide-eyed helmsmen had his arms deep inside them and he struggled to get free of the device as Proto and Nestor approached.

The other crewman, a bearded fellow with a fancy feathered hat, wore a few insignias on his uniform that suggested he was high-ranking, most likely a captain. He had a silver-hued sword drawn, but he held it like he was afraid of it. The first real myssteel weapon Nestor had seen in a while, and it was in inexperienced hands.

"I order you to surrender," said the captain shakily. "The crew… is coming, and you are outnumbered."

"If most of your crew wasn't already off the ship, then I'd be slightly worried," said Nestor. He gestured with his head to the broken barricade. "Unless you want _that_ to happen to you, I suggest you tell me how to work this thing."

"I will do no such thing," the captain stated, his shaking knees suggesting he was mostly hot air.

"This is a shame," said Nestor, stretching his arms as if preparing for some heavy action. "I haven't had to turn anybody inside-out in a _long_ time."

The captain seemed disturbed by the threat, and his knees shook harder. The helmsman apparently had no fortitude whatsoever and abruptly fainted, falling forward and pushing the sheathes downward. The captain looked around in increasingly dismay as his ship's bow began to dip, the vessel picking up speed as it slowly descended toward the earth.

"You want to teach me what I want to know _now_?" demanded Nestor. "Or shall we all crash?"

_Human Nestor…_

"Shh, Proto," interrupted Nestor. "Remember our discussion about letting me talk?" Heading Proto off before he could speak was the only way to keep the machine from ruining the act. Proto didn't understand the nature of lying, and probably never will.

_But Human Nestor, we have other concerns._

"Oh," said Nestor. "Well, that's differAHHHH!"

Something large and rocky grabbed Nestor's legs and yanked him backward, past the broken barricade. Nestor twisted around to greet his newest attacker, the headless stone form of a Berserker, its massive stone hand dangling him upside down in its grip.

"I wondered when I'd fight one of you guys," commented Nestor.

* * *

The sum total of the Alchemist's troops on the ground (the ones that could stand, at any rate) had gathered at the base of the hill, having regrouped from an inglorious retreat. Most of them had known that the Champions would be a tough group to take down, but the sudden appearance of the Dragon Rider and his allies had raised the difficulty curve to a whole new level.

And Sheen had gone incommunicado. What was an army of malcontents to do?

Someone did rally the troops after a few minutes of bickering and general confusion. He pointed out that they had over a hundred soldiers, a dozen of whom were archers, and they could still win the battle if they could just get to the trees and into cover. The dragons couldn't burn the forest without hurting their friends. They just had to make it back up the hill.

Best of all, there didn't appear to be any sign of the dragons. If they left now, they could make the copse before the dragons showed up again.

With numbers came strength and bravado, and the army did agree to try again. It certainly beat piling back into the _Cauldron _and reporting to the Alchemist how they let a handful of warriors and dragons best one of her supposedly invincible warships.

They huffed and puffed up the hillside, sending up a cloud of dust as they went. Individuals occasionally slipped and fell back down the slope, but the army held together. In less than thirty seconds, they'd crest the hill once more and descend on the Champions like a horde of barbarians, eager to satiate their humiliations with a double dose of cruelty to their would-be victims.

Then came the dragons… and the logs.

Hiccup's timing proved impeccable as usual, Toothless flying over the edge of the cliff while sporting a huge log between his paws. The dragon strained to gain altitude with such a heavy load, beating his wings hard and panting as he flew to the drop point. Barf-Belch was right behind him, the dragon managing a similar load.

"Everyone, drop!" yelled Hiccup. Toothless immediately let go of the log, which plummeted to the ground and starting rolling down the incline. Ruff and Tuff had their dragon do the same, placing their log off to the right in order to cover the expanse of the slope, so that none of the approaching soldiers could squeak by.

The logs moved slowly at first, then gradually picked up speed as they traveled down the hill, bumping over rocks and mounds and, eventually, unlucky soldiers who couldn't quite get out of the way in time.

The army's morale had been razor-thin before. This time, it broke so completely that Humpty Dumpty might've been impressed. The logs weren't quite heavy enough to flatten the fleeing soldiers, but the pain and panic they did cause was enough to convince the soldiers to just keep on running.

Toothless and Barf-Belch poured on the terror, opening fire at the more stubborn or hesitant troops and sending them scurrying down the hill, or even dive-bombing them and showing off their claws and teeth. To the frantic eyes of the gutless soldiers, the two dragons came off looking like two thousand.

Most of the men fled into the wilderness, abandoning the Alchemist's cause and taking their chances with the forest. Others would seek shelter around the battlefield after the Champions had left, waiting for the Alchemist to send a rescue party that would never come. But for a few stubborn souls allied to the Alchemist, the battle was still not over.

* * *

Hiccup tried not to feel too much satisfaction over routing the Alchemist's ground forces, but some slipped in anyway. He knew the going would be rough for a lot of these men, stuck alone in the wilds, but they pretty much deserved it. They had planned on killing Astrid and his friends, and that was the kind of thing that rubbed him in all the wrong ways.

Toothless flew a slow circle over the battlefield as the stragglers picked themselves up and stumbled away. The battle was starting to look pretty much over, but Hiccup needed to be sure. There were probably a few mooks hiding out in the trees, but he wasn't worried about them so much. Astrid, Saga, Linebreaker, Qiao – they could handle a few stragglers. He just didn't want any big surprises sneaking up on them.

The Twins flew their dragon close to him, whooping and laughing with glee over their victory. "This has to be one for the Dragon Manual," said Ruffnut. "I even have a title: How To Train Your Dragon To Flatten An Army."

"Guys, this isn't over," said Hiccup. "We're missing a Hunter and the flying warship."

"_That_ flying warship?" Tuffnut pointed behind Hiccup, making Hiccup dread what he was about to see. With his luck, it'd be flying straight at him or preparing to open fire with its death-cannons or whatever they were called.

Sure enough, the big flying warship was there, but it wasn't doing anything hostile. It was actually speeding away and dropping altitude rapidly, like it was trying to make a landing. Except that it wasn't aimed at the distant sea, and there was no way it was going to make it to water before it collided with the earth. At the speed it was going, a crash would be extremely bad, which would normally be extremely good for Hiccup's side. But Nestor and Proto had not shown up yet, and there was a major commotion visible aboard the ship. Three guesses where Nestor and Proto probably were right now.

"Nestor's still on that ship," said Hiccup. He looked down at the copse, his heart beckoning him to go in there and find Astrid. He _needed _to go in there. It felt like hot pokers were pressing on his soul, torturing him more with every passing second. After all he'd been through, he was now so close to her that he thought he could hear her heart beating… though that was probably just Toothless's heartbeat, the dragon revved up from his bout of hard flying.

But he wasn't about to abandon Nestor, not after everything _they'd_ been through.

"We have to help him," said Hiccup. "Ruff, Tuff, you're with me."

The Twins exchanged looks, as if wondering why Hiccup wasn't racing to find Astrid, but then they nodded in agreement. The battle wasn't over until they were _all_ safe and sound.

They took off after the warship, leaving the copse and those underneath it for now. In their haste and distraction, they missed the half-hidden Hunter platform stuck in the trees… and missed the one final echoing explosion.

* * *

Despite her overwhelming elation, Astrid knew better than to run out waving and hollering at Hiccup and Toothless. She and Saga were still surrounded by armed mooks who were out to kill them without mercy. The worst time to lower your guard was when you thought you were safe and sound.

At least the good news was piling up for a change. Astrid had feared for Heather and the others after seeing them cut off from escape, and had almost run to help them until Qiao demonstrated her expert archery skill by blowing up a crossbow, and Linebreaker seemed to be easily disarming foes at a rapid pace. They had the matter well in hand, which took the pressure off her situation.

She and Saga held the line for many long minutes, preventing the disorganized soldiers from advancing further into the copse. Eventually the mooks got the idea and fled the other direction, and Saga and Astrid were finally able to catch their breath.

"You think it's over?" said Astrid, leaning on her axe and trying to not look as winded as she felt.

"Doubtful," said Saga, who _had_ to be more winded than she looked because she lacked the slightest trace of windedness. "They may attempt a second offensive once they…"

That's when the logs came crashing down the hillside outside the copse, and two familiar-looking dragons swept by to roar and drop fireballs on the short-lived second offensive. Astrid recognized the second dragon as a Zippleback, and her thoughts went to Ruff and Tuff. But that couldn't be right, could it? They were all the way back at Berk. Hiccup must have cajoled another dragon to fight for him.

"And now?" said Astrid, once the fighting had died down again.

"Less doubtful." Saga allowed herself a little smile. She was as grateful for the reappearance of their friends as Astrid was, but she had too much Gunnarr in her to show it.

There was a horrendous series of cracks and breakage behind them, coming from a halfway point between them and Heather's group. A sudden downpour of branches and needles fell to the ground, and then there were a number of voices swearing in various languages from the upper parts of the trees. Then there was another chorus of breakage, another shorter rain of flora wreckage, and then a renewed barrage of angry ranting.

"I believe the third Hunter has been revealed," said Saga. "You should go assist the others in dealing with it. I will stay and watch our backs. Yell to me if you require my assistance."

Astrid did as asked, unworried that Saga would be left alone to fend off any ambitious mooks. She pitied _anyone_ who tried to get past the Seer.

Saga's assessment of the source of the commotion was confirmed a minute later, Astrid rounding a tree and looking up at the dangling, useless crab legs of the third platform. The vehicle was wedged against the strong limbs of three thick evergreens, titling slightly but in no danger of falling out of its all-natural bindings. The crew was doing their best to chop through the branches, but they were having trouble moving through the bushy mounds of prickly needles and getting the leverage they needed to saw effectively.

Astrid stifled a laugh so to not alert the crew to her presence. The pilot must have tried to break through the tree cover, probably to hide from Hiccup and Toothless. Boy, did they pick the wrong spot.

Nearby, Linebreaker and Heather were crouched down behind a moss-covered log, having pulled a half-conscious Qiao with them. Heather saw Astrid and pointed at the platform above them. Heather started moving toward Astrid, but Astrid waved her to stop, then gestured to herself with one hand and the platform with another.

Forgoing further explanation, Astrid found that one of the trees currently holding the platform captive was full of hefty branches. A good climbing tree. She slung up her axe, took hold of the nearest branches, and began her ascension, keeping to the hidden side of the tree.

This was probably pointlessly dangerous, but it beat waiting for the platform to break free.

* * *

Saga waited for Astrid to leave her proximity, then sheathed her daggers and faced one of the thicker bushes flanking her. She stared at it. She didn't say a word, didn't make a preemptive attack or throw a rock or any of the usual tactics that people did when they knew someone was hiding behind something. No, she just stood there and stared, as patiently as a mother waiting for her child to eat their brussel sprouts.

She was in no hurry for this encounter, and she felt it was best if he made the first move. Then she would know his true intentions.

"How long did you know I was here?" spoke the bush.

"The moment you hid behind it," said Saga.

Once flash of silver later, the bush parted to make way for Cragfist. He walked free of the bramble but stepped no further, his two-handed sword in hand but not raised to attack. He still wore the same drab Alchemist uniform, but he seemed different than before. His appearance had taken a downgrade from last time, his hair now noticeably unruly and dirty, but that was just appearance. It was his eyes - something in them was different. The sealed-in rage he could barely contain in the past was gone, spent or deprived of adequate fuel. There was only emptiness in those eyes now, no passion or remorse or anything that might replace his anger.

Saga had known that the next meeting she had with her brother would go as unpleasantly as the last ones. But she had not expected this type of unpleasantness. To see her brother as all but a shell of what he once was – she didn't think her heart could feel anything for him, and yet it did.

"You sent away your friend," said Cragfist. "Best to leave family business in the family, I imagine."

"Was the Hunter crashing into the trees your idea?" said Saga. "Or your companion's?"

Cragfist smiled and leaned back towards the bushes. "I told you she'd sniff you out," he cried out behind him.

"YOU IDIOT!" came back an irate female voice, the speaker still choosing to remain hidden. "STOP TALKING AND GET ON WITH IT!"

"It was hers," explained Cragfist, switching back to Saga. "She actually wanted Astrid to stay behind, not you."

Saga sighed and pulled out her daggers, though she didn't raise them. "So does history repeat itself today?"

Much to Saga's surprise, Cragfist shook his head. "Do you know what Sheen plans for me? She wants me to charge you like a lummox and try to take your head. And while I'm doing that, she'll activate my medallion as soon as I'm close enough. The ensuing explosion would probably claim us both."

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" cried out Sheen from her hiding spot.

"She didn't tell me that last part," said Cragfist. "I figured it out on my own. I'm not entirely stupid."

Saga was caught in a rare moment of indecision. Her brother had just given away everything, and quite freely. He still could easily traverse the distance between them and make himself a living bomb unless she cut him down right there. Yet… she couldn't. Her daggers hung at her side, her arms refusing to rise to her defense, for she could sense no malice from Cragfist… at least, not for her.

"Do you remember Loki's Peak, Saga?" said Cragfist, his voice melancholy all of a sudden.

Saga nodded. "We would sled down it as children, using our father's shields."

"It was the one good moment we had together, before Father separated us, before you became the Seer and I became… me. Do you think things would've been different if we had a few more winters sliding down Loki's Peak together?"

This was certainly not going the way Saga expected, and for once she was glad. "Things can be different _now_, brother. There is still time."

Then he shook his head, and all thought of reconciliation fled her mind. There was a growing determination in his eyes now. His path was set, and he knew it.

"I have done too much, sister. And even after witnessing the folly of my own ways, I find I cannot forgive you. All I can do now… is be Gunnarr one final time."

"Oh, you stupid, stupid man!" said Sheen, emerging from between the bushes at last. She held her myssteel chain in one hand, a strange cylindrical device in the other. Her face was livid, her teeth clinched. "This is how you waste your second chance? Talking it up with your sister? You have five seconds to start hacking up your precious sister, or you die right here!"

She stood behind Cragfist, using the Viking as cover against Saga's lethal daggers. But she wasn't all that far from Cragfist. In her anger-fueled haste, she had gotten too close.

With his left hand, he reached into his waist belt and under his shirt. He extracted an ivory-colored cylinder. Saga recognized it at once – it was what Qiao called a memory stick.

"This may help you, or it may not," said Cragfist, clearly referring to the memory stick. "You have your job cut out for you, sister. Cervantes now works with the Alchemist, and her armada is powerful. But if anyone can send the Alchemist back under the rock she crawled out of, it'll be you and your Champions."

The next few seconds would stay permanently etched in Saga's memory for all her life.

With his left hand, Cragfist tossed his coveted myssteel sword to the ground, as if it was no more important than a fleck of dandruff. With his right, he lobbed the memory stick to Saga, who instinctively caught it between the hilts of her daggers. But even before the memory stick had reached Saga, he was turning around and _charging_ Sheen, like a bull that had seen one too many flapping capes. He let out a hideous roar, whether in rage or triumphant or just because.

Sheen's adept reflexives proved to be her downfall. Had she not been carrying the trigger, she might have deflected or entangled Cragfist with her mystical chain. But her first instinct was to do what she so dearly wanted to do – push the button. And she did, right before she realized the depth of her error.

Cragfist's medallion surged with a terrible green energy, summoning a lime-green orb of fiery power in the blink of an eye. It enveloped both Cragfist and Sheen, the two of them disappearing into the orb, along with the ground below them and most of the bush they had hidden behind.

The orb stood in place for maybe two seconds, long enough to do the job, and then it disappeared with a _pop!_ The air stank of some otherworldly odor, a combination of bad eggs and burning tar, as short whiffs of smoke curdled up from the hole that remained where the orb had materialized. No fires, only black residue on the ground and on a severely disfigured bush.

Of Sheen and Cragfist, only a part of Sheen's chain had escaped the orb's power, lying in pieces on the edge of the hole.

* * *

Nestor struggled in the grip of the Berserker, unable to break free while it had him by the legs. He could see the pilot inside, floating in the center of a storm of stone, looking pretty proud of himself for having hooked someone on the Alchemist's enemies list.

Nestor hadn't seen any Berserkers on his way across the ship, so he assumed that one of the crewmembers boiling up from below deck had brought a harness with him. And a second Berserker was lumbering his way, along with a couple dozen crewmen. It was still a paltry number of soldiers to deal with, compared to the mob that had left the ship, but it did pose a new complication. You couldn't steer a ship while fighting off two Berserkers, much less two-dozen lowly mooks.

First things first, though. The Berserker holding his feet was the priority.

Nestor shunted power to his legs and kicked out with all his strength, breaking the hold enough to slip free. He fell to the deck on his back, feeling every bit of the impact thanks to having the barrier part of his field weakened.

The ship leveled out as he rolled through the pain, a heavy rock fist slamming the spot where he had landed. Their descent had been arrested, making combat simpler and less dizzying. Then he was up on his feet and dodging the next blow, sliding between the legs of the stone construct and punching upwards, into the thing's stomach region. He managed to grab hold of the pilot's leg, and now it was the pilot's turn to struggle in someone's grip.

The second Berserker came on, set on saving the first from Nestor, when Proto skittered out to greet it. There was a gasp from the pilot, alarmed by the alien appearance of Proto, and the pause gave the machine just enough analysis time to project a path to victory that followed its command structure.

The Berserker took a swing at Proto, which the Guardian easily avoided by swaying out of the way. The next two swings were also failures. Proto didn't take a single aggressive action until the Berserker took a step back and tried to rush the machine, hoping to shove it off the ship or smother it under a whole lot of rocks.

Proto sidestepped the charge and sent in a single tentacle. It snaked through the mass of floating stones and found the pilot, grabbing his harness right on the central gem. The pilot slapped at the tentacle, which caused the Berserker to slap at its own chest in a comical display of incompetence. The slapping did nothing, as Proto retracted its gripper and tore the gem, and much of the harness, free of the pilot.

The energy sparking from the pilot's chest immediately stopped. The second Berserker kept its shape for the blink of an eye, and then the stone construct fell apart into hundreds of separate parts. The pilot inside fell with them, pelted by the stones that once protected him. He might have suffered serious injury had Proto not sent a second tentacle his way, plucking him from the collapsing rock pile before it buried him.

_Human organism should cease its aggression,_ scolded Proto, putting down the hapless pilot, who proceeded to run away screaming. This puzzled Proto briefly before he had to attend to the other attacking human organisms, who pounded and stabbed him with primitive, ineffectual weapons.

Nestor had a worse time of it, as he kept holding onto the pilot's leg while a pair of rock-hard hands kept pounding at him, his field blaring with each hit. He wasn't about to let go to defend himself, as he might not get this close to the pilot again. But the strength of the energy field creating the Berserker was enormous, and he couldn't wrestle the pilot down low enough to get at the gem.

Then a blast of hot air and acrid smoke filled the area, distracting the Berserker pilot for the second Nestor needed. Nestor channeled energy to his limbs and shoved himself further into the middle of the Berserker. He dragged himself upward with his left arm, stretched out his right arm, and grabbed the control gem on the pilot's chest.

One good yank later, the Berserker field was dead and Nestor was crawling out of an inert pile of rocks, dragging the dazed pilot with him and plopping him on the deck. He then saw the smoking blast mark where something hot and fiery had hit the ship, and he automatically knew who had come to his aid.

Hiccup waved a greeting as Toothless put on some speed and rushed over the soldiers on deck, stirring the panic pot vigorously. But while Hiccup's help was most welcome, it was Proto who caused the bigger stir. Men and women in full battle gear were fleeing from the machine as it diligently went from soldier to soldier, plucking off their weapons and squeezing them into warped pieces of scrap.

Another burst of fire came from the left, scorching the side of the ship. Barf-Belch did a flyby, the Twins waving as they veered off to set up a second pass. Nestor waved back, marveling at how quickly fortune could turn around, both for and against you. The Fates were fickle, that was for sure.

It was evident that the crew of the warship had not been adequately prepared for aerial attackers, for none of the ship's weapons were firing at all, and the third Hunter platform had disappeared during the fight. This battle was all but over, and Nestor could probably get back on Proto and call it a day. The ship would retreat back to the Alchemist with tales of woe from its crew. Wouldn't that put a crimp in morale?

But it occurred to Nestor that the ship was still largely intact. He couldn't let such a weapon escape back to the Alchemist. The original plan stayed the same.

He raced back to the elevated deck, and was surprised to see that Captain Featherhat hadn't flown the coop. He had gotten his light-headed subordinate out of the grip of the steering device, propping him up against a barricade, and was trying to keep the ship level by himself.

The captain saw Nestor and stepped away from the helm, pulling his sword out again, apparently thinking it would go better this time. "Do… do what you will, for I will not help in any way."

"That's okay,' said Nestor. "I know which direction I want to go." Then he grabbed the control-sheaths and yanked them toward him, as far as they would go.

The ship lurched downward, throwing most of the people on deck off their feet (and a few of them completely overboard). The captain took up impromptu flying lessons as he fell past Nestor, screeching in an undignified wail as he fell down the length of the ship, his precious sword sailing from his grasp. Nestor noticed that the captain and his soldiers had glowing belts around them that reduced the speed of their falls to something survivable. A wise move, though it wouldn't help cushion them from a crash.

Ahead, the world was rushing to meet them, a plentiful array of trees and mountainous hills skirting by as the ship continued its death-dive. Toothless and Barf-Belch had been caught unawares by the ship's dramatic change in direction and were trying to keep up. The ship was picking up speed and would be hitting the ground in seconds. It was certain to destroy the ship, but it would also likely kill everyone onboard, including him.

Nestor braced his feet to the inclining deck and leveraged the control sheaths backward. The ship's bow rose on command, turning the death-dive into a less hazardous but still ultimately final dive, the strain causing a rumble across the deck, men struggling to find their footing. Proto sunk his grippers into the deck and actually assisted a few other soldiers in close proximity, though this did not improve their opinion of him.

Nestor felt the ship shudder as the hull clipped a small grove of trees, breaking some, tearing off the tops of others. It passed over another hill and grazed a sizable rock outcropping, scrapping the hull fiercely. By Nestor's estimate, his move had given the ship fourteen seconds more to live before it hit the ground near sea level.

"IF YOU WANT TO LIVE, JUMP FOR IT!" he shouted. He repeated himself a few more times as a courtesy, but most of the soldiers got the idea the first time. They jumped for their lives, not even bothering to help their fallen. Proto did that job, finding the few soldiers unable to escape under their own power and dropping them toward safe landing spots, give them a chance to live.

"NESTOR!" rang out Hiccup's voice from above. Nestor looked up and saw Toothless flying inverted, Hiccup upside down and calling to him frantically.

"GET OFF THE SHIP!" shouted Hiccup. He reached a hand for him, another fine but unneeded gesture as Proto was already on it. Nestor yelped in surprise as a pair of grippers took him by the waist and hoisted him off the ship. Proto floated away and decelerated to a safe speed, gently placing Nestor on his back.

Toothless and Barf-Belch joined Proto as the group watched the ship clip another hill, veering from the impact and disappearing over said hill. That was the last time they saw the ship in flight. Much to Ruff and Tuff's disappointment, they didn't see the crash. Considering how ear-pounding the crash sounded, the horrendous orchestra composed of rent trees, cracking boulders, dug-up ground, and objects bending where they were never meant to bend, it had to have been a truly righteous crash.

The group exchanged happy and relieved expressions as they veered back toward the battlefield. The ship wreckage would need to be inspected, but that could wait for later. Right now, it was enough to know that they had saved the day.

Hiccup turned to Nestor and said, "So… you're okay and everything?"

"Right as rain," said Nestor.

"No heart problems or anything?" said Hiccup.

"I restrained myself, if that's what you're worried about." Nestor smiled. "But I thank you for coming for me."

Hiccup nodded. "Well, you're practically family at this point, and I can't have you…"

"_Salo krebit_, _Hiccup_!" blurted out Nestor. "_Go to her_!"

And that was all the permission he needed. Toothless didn't even wait for Hiccup to give the order before he zoomed off and left the others eating his wind.

"Sometimes, he's too nice for his own good," remarked Ruffnut.

* * *

The six men before Astrid were rather unpleased to see her occupying their platform, holding their melee weapons at the ready but not attacking. The bramble was too thick for the two archers in their midst to bring their weapons to bear, and the crew had been diligently hacking and sawing away to free their platform only to have Astrid come take possession of the one clear spot on their vessel.

"The way I see it, you got two choices," Astrid said, chatting like this was a friendly bit of bartering. "You can fight me and lose and then surrender all your gear, or you can skip the fighting and just surrender. All your pals are gone and no one's coming to save your rears. So giving up is the only sensible thing to do, don't you think?"

The men weren't in any rush to relinquish their weapons. They may have thought that Astrid would slay them on the spot if they did. Or perhaps they were really devoted to the Alchemist. Astrid's tactic of jumping from the tree right into their midst and surprising them all in the process had not earned her their trust. If need be, she could fight them all, but she was quite tired of the fighting, and her priorities were elsewhere.

"We've let the rest of your pals walk away," she said, attempting to sound reassuring. "Just throw down your weapons and I'll let you all go."

Something about her approach wasn't endearing her to them. The myssteel axe she kept at the ready had a lot of to with it. But right about the time Astrid started coming to terms with facing yet another brawl, a piercing crash resonated through the forest, suggesting a big object had just had a painful reunion with the ground. The men glanced at one another fearfully, afraid of the implications.

Astrid smiled confidently, not to allay the men's fears but to drive home who was in control of the situation. "Also, I'm pretty sure that was your warship going boom just now. _Now_ will you take me up on my offer?"

They did. Clubs and swords were tossed over the platform's guardrail and the pilot's control harness was handed over to Astrid. She tossed it over as well.

She was about to order the men to climb or float down to the ground when she heard a voice echoing through the woods. It was a memorable voice, a very welcome voice. And it was the one voice she'd been waiting to hear from for far too long.

"You guys stay here," she ordered, running for the nearest tree and proceeding to descend it. "I'm in a good mood right now, so I suggest you don't do anything to put me in a bad one before I come back."

* * *

Toothless wouldn't even stop to let Hiccup dismount as they entered the copse. He simply hit the ground and kept on running, galloping on all fours toward the far side of the trees. Toothless raced past the fallen wreckage of a burning Hunter, past the detritus of battle in a dozen places. The dragon was almost as eager to find Astrid as Hiccup, mostly to make his rider happy again after all those long days of sadness.

Hiccup called out to Astrid as he searched the woods, but no answering cry came to his ears. A part of him feared that Astrid wasn't here any longer or that she had fallen during the fight, and that part of him grew stronger and stronger as Toothless took him further into the woods, making his voice sound more and more frantic. The horizon began to peek through the trees, signaling that the cliffs awaited him and that he was about to run out of woods.

After about the tenth frantic call, a voice responded. It was not Astrid, though he was still relieved to hear it. Toothless zeroed in on it and sprinted the two of them to the source.

It turned out to be Saga, standing solemnly, looking up at Hiccup with tired eyes as Toothless stopped before her. She gave him a slight smile and said, "It is good to see you again, Dragon Rider."

"Same here, Saga," he said. He sensed something was up with her, thought she appeared uninjured. There was a strangely tidy blast hole not far from her, too circular and neat to be a random fireball from Toothless. There had to be a story behind it.

A happy call from further ahead got Hiccup's attention. Three people were walking towards him, two of them propping up the third between their shoulders. Hiccup quickly recognized all three of them.

"Linebreaker… Qiao…" He started in shock when he recognized the third person, someone who shouldn't have been anywhere near the craziness. "Heather?"

"Hey," she said mildly, waving slightly while struggling to keep Qiao standing.

"What are you…? How are you…?" he stammered.

"We all have lots of stories to tell around the campfire tonight," said Linebreaker with a big smile.

""Ey, Burp buddy," said Qiao, clearly not her usual self. "Glad you're back. And I see you brought the flyin' kitty cat."

Toothless started at the odd reference, as did Hiccup. "Is she alright?"

"Nothing time won't cure," said Linebreaker, sitting Qiao down on a log.

Hiccup took another look around the area, his pulse picking up as he saw no sign of Astrid. Surely the group wouldn't be this happy if she was gone, but he couldn't stop from feeling like someone was playing a dirty trick on him.

"I'm glad you're all okay," said Hiccup. "But, seriously, where is (THUMP!)…"

Astrid fell right in front of him, right onto Toothless, right onto his saddle. Toothless was momentarily startled by the move, but he quickly settled down when he saw who it was, even managing a dragon version of a smile. Hiccup almost jumped out of his saddle from the shock, but his harness kept him in place.

Astrid had a wide, beaming smile on her face, and she might have had a snappy comment for the moment as well, but being right there, touching Hiccup after thinking him lost, drove any prepared remarks away.

Hiccup looked at her with shocked eyes initially, still having a little trouble believing she was really here and really alive… and then he hugged her as tightly as his skinny arms could manage. Astrid had her arms wrapped around him as well, and for a long while there was nothing but silence from everyone, save for Linebreaker's hearty laughter.

Hiccup felt like his eyes were flooding, so many tears were tumbling down his face. He heard Astrid sob once, and he knew the same was happening to her. They had made it through an impossible situation… and they were still together. If that wasn't something worth crying over, what was?

Then Astrid did a very Astrid thing and punched him once in the gut. His riding armor took the blow, so Hiccup didn't mind.

"Don't you _ever_ do that to me again," she said.

He finally pushed her back and looked at her, easily confirming that her cheeks were as wet as his. "Me? _Me?_ Astrid, do you have any idea what I've been hmmhmhmhmm…"

Astrid interrupted Hiccup by fiercely pushing her lips against his. Hiccup settled in for a long kiss, and suddenly all the sadness that had plagued him over the last two weeks evaporated like snow on a smelter.

When they finally broke off for a breather, their foreheads touching, Hiccup smiled and said, "Ah… I'll tell you about it later." Then they went in for another kiss.

This romantic moment might have lasted longer if not for Toothless. He was perfectly happy to let the couple reunite for a time, but as their second kiss started to match the length of the first, he began feeling left out of the moment. He narrowed his eyes and gently bucked the kissing couple until they were forced to disengage.

"Okay, okay, Toothless, we're getting off," said Hiccup. They did so, and Toothless immediately and enthusiastically gave Astrid a tongue bath, Astrid giggling and rubbing the happy dragon's face.

The others, patiently letting the couple have their way-overdue reunion, took that as their cue to close in and greet Hiccup and Toothless properly. There was laughter and hugs and handshaking and Qiao spouting a few more slurred statements about how happy she was.

But the reunion had hardly started before the latecomers finally arrived. First came Ruff and Tuff aboard Barf-Belch, landing rather awkwardly when their dragon tried going separate directions around a tree and wound up smacking it dead center, spilling the Twins to the ground. But then they were up and running to the others, Astrid staring at them with her jaw slack, blown away by their appearance.

"Ruff? Tuff?" she said as they collided with her, burying her in a joint hug. There were more tears to spill that time, and not all of them came from Astrid or Ruffnut, though Tuffnut would state for the record that he was just sweating from the eyes.

Saga had kept to her friendly-yet-remote approach through the reunion, but it was she who first asked of Nestor. Had she waited a few more seconds, the question would've been unnecessary, for the Guardian floating and weaving its way through the trees was hard to miss.

The ones not familiar with Proto were understandably unnerved by the machine's appearance, though watching Nestor step off its back did much to calm their nerves. Saga walked up to Nestor, a genuine smile on her face. Nestor smiled far more warmly, extremely relieved to see her.

"Did I miss all the gooey stuff between Hiccup and Astrid?" said Nestor, sounding disappointed.

"Yes," confirmed Saga. "But rest assured, there will be plenty of it to come." She took his hand in hers, gave it a squeeze. "I am glad you are here, Outlander."

"Titles again, Saga?" teased Nestor. "I'm gone for a couple of weeks and we're back to that already?"

Proto regarded all the new people in his life with his three-eyed sensor head, then settled on Saga, apparently finding something about her very interesting. _This unit greets all human organisms present, _said Proto.

"And it talks," said Qiao. "Of course it talks. Dragons talk, machines talk… heck, I bet this tree right here will have something to say pretty shortly."

"What's with her?" said Nestor.

"Long story," said Saga. "What is this Guardian?"

"Much longer story," said Nestor. Then he noticed the twinge of sadness around Saga's eyes. "Are you okay?"

Saga sighed and gestured toward the burnt hole off to the side, the one with a section of myssteel chain lying next to it. "My brother," she explained quietly.

There were a few gasps from the group as the news hit. She had not told a soul what had transpired. The news even sobered Qiao up. Nestor placed his free hand on her shoulder in a tender act of consolation. "Saga…"

She shook her head, denying whatever words of comfort he had planned. "He was my brother, but he was no longer family." The smile on her face was back, and wider than before. "My real family has returned."

Perhaps something more might have transpired between Nestor and Saga, but as Hiccup and Astrid had Toothless to reign in the romance, Nestor and Saga had a slightly jealous Ruffnut. She walked up to Nestor and said, "You were right behind us when we were flying in. Did you stop for an outhouse break?"

"Actually, I ran into someone," said Nestor. "And he should be here right about…"

Something crashed through the tree cover above, sending the companions into fight mode and grabbing for their weapons. But they immediately calmed, even began calling out greetings and cheers, when the thing gliding toward them wasn't another Hunter moving in for the kill, but an old and wizened green dragon.

"ARC!" cried out Qiao, shrugging off the last of her drug-fueled grogginess and racing for the dragon as he landed. Arc barely had time to react before she had her arms around his neck.

"You scared me, you big lummox," she said, a tear sliding down her cheek. "What, you couldn't figure out how to follow us?"

"I had a painful run-in with your foster mother," he replied, gently removing himself from Qiao's grip. "I was aided by my fellow Hyperions, who are currently sleeping off their efforts. They will join us before the day is over." As he folded his wings up, his left one acted stiffer than usual, and he grimaced with the effort.

"As for following you, it was frightfully easy," commented Arc. "The countryside is littered with fallen war machines."

"Why aren't you resting with the others?" asked Hiccup, who had managed to get back to Astrid's side at some point. The two of them stood with their arms around each other, reluctant to ever let go again.

"Well… I couldn't very well let you all go into battle without me," explained Arc. "But it appears I arrived too late to render assistance." He took a good look at the people around him, the assorted band of warrior misfits that had defeated the Alchemist's forces all by themselves. "It seems like our team grows bigger with each passing day."

"It's okay, Old Man," said Nestor, walking up to his dragon mentor and putting a hand to his neck. "We have it covered. You need more healing."

"I'll heal when I have time," said Arc. "Keep in mind, all of you, that while you struck a blow against the Alchemist this day, her army is on the move, and time is a luxury we do not have."

"I guess the happy moment's over," said Heather. "But then a Champion's job is never done."

"Champion?" said Linebreaker.

"It was what the Alchemist's mooks called you guys," explained Heather. "I think it's a fitting title."

"It is what they will call _all_ of us," said Arc, smiling with pride at all his companions, and giving his biggest smile to Nestor. "And it is a title much deserved."

"I can still go by Captain, right?" remarked Linebreaker.


	15. The Wreck of the Cauldron

**Chapter Fourteen: The Wreck of The **_**Cauldron**_

On foot for a change, the Alchemist circled the deck of the _Zenith_ for the fifth time, inspecting her prized ship like a mother might inspect her child for cuts and bruises after a nasty fall. She had forced some of her crew to wash it thoroughly twice over, just to get Cervantes's stink out of it… even though he technically had no stink. It also worked as punishment for the crewmembers that had joined with Cervantes and who now begged and pleaded to be let back into the fold.

She had spared most of them, though a few "examples" were created as a warning to those who thought of loyalty as an expendable commodity. The crews had been reorganized and shifted so that a mostly-loyal bunch now manned the _Zenith_.

The sea had an ornery nature to it today, the waves leaping about as if the ocean was trying to get at the flying armada traveling high above its waters. Perhaps Mother Nature hated being shown up. Or perhaps it wasn't the seven ships angering any resident sea gods, but the _other_ thing following along, the thing that clearly disturbed the natural order of the world. The armada's primary purpose, its reason for existing, was to protect it, keep it safe as it traveled to its destination, for it was the heart of this massive endeavor the Alchemist was undertaking.

And when it reached the city limits of Riki Poka, it would seal the city's fate once and for all.

There was a gusty head wind as well, and combined with the surging sea below suggested that a storm might not be far off. Hopefully it would steer clear of the fleet until the coast was reached, but they would press on even if they were set upon by a hundred hurricanes. Regardless, Dark Star would give warning if a serious storm cell was incoming. The dragon was doing her duty, flying well ahead of the fleet and patrolling for unexpected obstacles.

The Alchemist halted her inspection at the bow of the ship, Norom and Kong patiently waiting there while she worked the fastidiousness out of her system. They said nothing as she approached, more interested in keeping an eye on the closest ship, the _Firecracker_, where the main source of her anxiety had parked himself.

If Cervantes knew he was being monitored, he showed no concern. He just stood there, like a silver statue sculptured by a purveyor of nightmare imagery. Norom and Kong shared their leader's disdain for Cervantes, but they kept their thoughts to themselves. Words would not improve the situation.

"The navigator says we should make the city just after nightfall," said Norom. "All ships report operations are normal."

"As they should be," said Kong. "You have done an admirable job of maintaining morale, Alchemist. I predict smooth travels."

The Alchemist frowned, dismissing the compliment. "Let us not get ahead of ourselves, Kong. Too many things have gone wrong as is."

"The conduit operator has asked to see you," said Norom. "She has an update from the captain of the _Cauldron._ Do you wish to hear it?"

The Alchemist nodded. Norom gestured to a woman soldier standing at attention nearby, and she walked up before them. She seemed a little on the nervous side, which meant the news was not all good. The Alchemist had expected as much – the _Cauldron_ was overdue on its report.

"Honored Alchemist," said the soldier, "the _Cauldron _reports they have found the fugitives, all five of them. They engaged them in battle… and killed all but Qiao."

The Alchemist might have felt good about this news, but the continuing nervousness of her subordinate managed to undercut it. "Is Qiao in their custody?"

The woman swallowed hard right before she spoke. "N… no, Alchemist. She was able to slip away during the fighting. Also… the captain regrets to inform you that Lieutenant Sheen perished during the fighting."

Of the three of them, only Norom reacted visibly to the news, mostly with dull surprise. Kong, as stone-faced as always, merely turned away to stare off at the ocean. The Alchemist nodded grimly, a measure of remorse penetrating her soul, but only a measure.

"She… was a valuable member of our army," said Norom, reaching for the right words. "She will be missed."

"She was a monster, Norom," said the Alchemist, "but she was a useful monster. She knew her loyalties. We will have a proper memorial for her when we have the time."

She looked over at Kong, who continued showing his back to her, and almost regretted her words, not for Sheen's sake, but for his. Kong and Sheen had had… something. Certainly not a relationship, and definitely not love, but Kong had always stood by her in battle, even coming to her defense when Sheen's cruel streak threatened to get her demoted. Kong had been unable to stand by her this time – honor and duty had prevented it. And now she was gone.

"What of other casualties?" she asked the conduit operator.

"They didn't list other names, but they did suffer losses," said the woman, her nervousness waning now that it appeared this wasn't going to become a kill-the-messenger moment.

"Cragfist, perhaps?" said Norom, his tone dreadfully hopeful.

"No mention," said the operator.

"You have done your job, soldier," reassured the Alchemist. "Relay this message for me: the _Cauldron_ will continue to hunt for Qiao. If Qiao is not captured by this time two days from now, the ship is ordered to head for Riki Poka to rejoin the fleet… and for its crew to be disciplined for negligence." The operator saluted and left with all haste.

"Only two days?" asked Norom. "Qiao is quite gifted at evasion."

"If they cannot capture her in two days, they never will," the Alchemist replied. "But at the very least she will be out of the fight."

"What do we tell the troops about Sheen?" said Norom.

"We tell them that we knew there would be losses along the way," the Alchemist stated plainly, "and that there's a lieutenant's position that needs to be filled."

* * *

…_And for its crew to be disciplined for negligence_.

Proto relayed the message word for word, manipulating the _Cauldron's_ Conduit Capacitor as easily as a blacksmith's apprentice worked the bellows of a furnace. Two tentacles caressed the device while the other two kept him balanced upon the busted-up and slanted flooring of the _Cauldron's _comm room.

_Communication ends,_ stated Proto. _Does this unit have permission to proceed with extraction?_

"Of course," said Nestor, standing on a pile of rubble that used to be one of the walls separating the comm room from the main cargo hold. "Take whatever time you need, but keep it intact."

Proto efficiently went to work as Nestor climbed the rubble pile up to the main deck, where everyone else had gathered to explore and salvage the broken remains of the Alchemist's warship. The team had agreed to relocate together, as the scattered remnants of the _Cauldron's _crew were still running about the forest. Given time, they might grow a backbone and assault them again, or somehow draw more of the Alchemist's army to their position. The wisest course of action was to take anything useful from the various wrecks and fly to a safer harbor.

Nestor had to admit that he was quite impressed with the Alchemist's craftsmanship as he surveyed the _Cauldron's _remains. The ship had buckled and cracked in a thousand places, but had stayed intact through it all. A long swath of destruction marked the ship's collision with the earth, trees upended and crushed under the impact, scarring the beauty of the rugged countryside with a wound that would take years and years to heal.

"I think they bought it," said Nestor once he reached the deck, keeping an eye on the surrounding forest for any sneaky soldiers, all the while thinking he had an attentive audience. "I don't know how long we… oh."

Yes, the audience he _thought _he had was Hiccup and Astrid. And they were there, but their minds weren't. Hiccup had come up with this newest ruse, one that Nestor thought pretty clever, and was helping to implement it when he wasn't kissing Astrid… which was maybe one moment out of every five. Much like they were doing right now, happily smooching away as if there was a time limit on romance.

"I'm up here now, you two," Nestor commented.

That did the trick. Hiccup and Astrid reluctantly separated, though their arms continued to encircle one another.

"Hmm?" said Hiccup. "Sorry, Nestor, what?"

Nestor shook his head with good humor. "You know, none of us would blame you two if you wanted to get some 'alone time.'"

"No, no, we're on the job," said Astrid. "We can't let you guys do all the work."

"Right, no shirking of duty here," said Hiccup, a statement that might have been believable if his eyes weren't firmly stuck on Astrid. "In fact, we should probably get some distance from each other. You can let go, Astrid."

Astrid smiled playfully. "No, you let go first."

"No, I think it's your turn," teased Hiccup.

"Since when are you keeping track?" replied Astrid.

This kind of routine had been going on all morning, much to the chagrin of those actually trying to get their attention. Toothless had given up on getting any quality time from Hiccup and had found a water bucket to play with, throwing it about the ship with glee. The dragon was burning off his excess excitement at the group's reunion, and since flying was nixed for now, it was either playing with inanimate objects or nosing his snout into other's people projects.

Or in Nestor's case, both, as the aforementioned bucket careened into his back as he waited for Hiccup and Astrid to disentangle themselves. Toothless ran up to Nestor and gave him the _please throw that, will you?_ expression that dogs liked to deploy when they're in a fetch-playing mood. Nestor sighed and gave the bucket a throw down the length of the ship, Toothless eagerly pursuing it.

Much to Nestor's irritation, Hiccup and Astrid were back to kissing by the time his attention was back on them. "Confused," he said. "This seems like the _opposite _of getting distance."

"Right, right, sorry," said Hiccup, and to his credit he and Astrid finally put space between them. A good foot, in fact. Hardly a safe distance for resisting temptation, but Nestor didn't feel like pointing that out.

"That's better," Nestor said. "So…"

"Was the message sent?" interrupted Saga, doing her usual coming-out-of-nowhere routine as she asked the question. Nestor was so used to Saga showing up out of the blue that he didn't bother to react to her sudden appearance.

"Yes, and I think they bought it," said Nestor. He gave Hiccup and Astrid an irritated glance. "I'm glad _somebody_ cares about the plan."

"I care," Hiccup said defensively. "I'm the one who thought it up."

"We're talking about those conduit things, right?" said Astrid. "I'm still fuzzy on how this plan is supposed to work."

"Remember the story I told you earlier?" said Hiccup. "Proto had tapped into the Alchemist's magical communication network and overheard someone on the _Cauldron_ reporting that they were tracking the stolen Hunter you guys used to escape Sanctuary Island. So we knew you had gotten away, but we also knew you were being pursued. We needed to trace that particular signal back to its source, and Proto obliged. Apparently, each one of these devices, what they call conduit capacitors, has a unique signature. I'm not sure what 'unique signature' means exactly, that's a Proto term, but I'm guessing it allows the Alchemist to keep track of who's sending messages and to know where they're coming from."

Astrid still had a confused look to her, but she was starting to work it out. "So that's why Proto is using the ship's conduit device to talk to the Alchemist and not the one sticking out of its back."

"_His_ back," corrected Nestor.

Astrid's confusion returned in full. "_His_? How can you even tell?"

Nestor made with an impish smile. "Well, you have to know where to look."

"_Please_ don't take that joke any further," said Hiccup. "In any case, yes, that's why Proto did what he did. If we're lucky, we'll keep the Alchemist in the dark about what happened to her ship for a few more days. Keeps the advantage of surprise in our favor."

"Proto's currently switching out the old conduit capacitor inside him with the one from the ship," explained Nestor. "That way, we can keep feeding them false information."

"What do we do with the old capacitor?" asked Astrid.

"Oh, we'll think of something," said Hiccup. "I mean, if the Alchemist's forces can communicate with these devices, why can't we?"

"A sophisticated system, this conduit network," said Saga. "The ability to communicate over vast distances is a great feat onto itself."

Nestor nodded. "And if we didn't have Proto, we'd have never known it existed." He gave Saga an earnest look. "And lacking a Seer to fall back on, we would never have found you guys in time, or at all. Talk about the Fates' Luck."

"Fates' Luck?" said Saga skeptically. "Do you think you were _meant_ to find Proto?"

"What else would you call it?" said Nestor. "That I teleported myself into the one cavern in the world with the only analytical Guardian in existence, purely by accident?"

"Perhaps," said Saga. "Or perhaps you walk a path that routinely places you in the forgotten parts of our world. I have said it before, Nestor – you lead a strange life."

"Tell me about it," he agreed.

Then an apple came out of nowhere, bounced off his field, and fell to the ground near his feet.

"Take the attacking fruit, for example," said Nestor.

"Oops, my bad," Ruffnut said flatly, standing next to a pile of provisions she and her brother had gathered from the surviving stores inside the wreck. "I was throwing it at Ruffnut and it hit you instead."

This story became suspect due to the fact that her brother was carrying an armload of apples to the opposite side of the pile, and she was facing away from him. Then she made the story further suspect by throwing the apple in her hand at Nestor and scoring a hit to his chest.

"Oops, I did it again." She then turned and walked away to fetch more supplies.

Nestor frowned at Ruffnut and then bent down to pick up one of the apples. "Well… fine, then. I'm going to _eat_ this apple." He then looked at the apple, a nice ripe specimen that most sailors would've given their gold fillings to munch on, and casually handed it to Saga. "Actually, I hate apples."

"She seems to be… out of sorts," observed Saga as they watched Ruffnut leave. She then faced Nestor directly. "And she displays unhappiness every time you and I are in close proximity to one another." She paused and then frowned. "Did you and her…?"

"Nooooo," Nestor emphatically said, now feeling increasingly uncomfortable. "It was a one-way street, her way only. Ask Hiccup, he was there."

"Don't drag me into this," said Hiccup.

Nestor gave him a _thanks-for-the-lack-of-support_ look, and then turned back to Saga, her neutral face making her unreadable and making _him_ nervous. "We did have a talk, but we came to an understanding. I figured that was the end of the puppy love."

"Doesn't look like it took," said Astrid.

"Perhaps I should discuss the matter with her," Saga said plainly.

"Don't do that," Astrid replied. "Ruffnut gets physical when she gets upset and I don't think she'd survive a discussion with you. I'll talk to her later."

"Well, hey, everybody's in one place," chimed in Qiao, walking up to the group with a less-cheery disposition than usual.

"Hiccup, Astrid, why aren't you two still kissing? Some of us are living vicariously," she added. Her tone was so unremarkable that it was hard to tell if she was being sarcastic or genuine.

"How are you feeling?" asked Astrid.

"Like you buried your axe in my head." She turned to show the group the back of her skull. "Is it still in there?"

"At least your humor is unaffected," said Saga. "Have you and Arc met with success?"

"Not with the memory sticks," replied Qiao. "That's one of two reasons why I'm here. He wants you to grace his presence, O Mighty Seer."

"Me?" Saga said. "What help can I offer?"

"That's what we're going to find out." Qiao switched to Hiccup and handed him a folded piece of parchment marked up with black ink. "Reason Two: he wants the guy with the reliable dragon to go on a scavenger hunt for these items. He said you might find them in the wreckage of the platforms."

Hiccup looked at the list and was amazed at the smooth penmanship. "This is in runes."

"Arc did it himself," said Qiao.

"How did it write it?" said Astrid.

"Very carefully," said Qiao. "Saga, I'll meet you there. I'm going to raid the medical bay for a hangover remedy."

After Qiao left, Hiccup called out to Toothless and was nearly bowed over by the galloping dragon, who must have sensed that there was flying to do. Hiccup mounted the dragon and then leaned over for another kiss with Astrid, who instead took a step backward rather than locking lips again.

"No parting kiss, I take it?" said Hiccup, disappointed.

"If we did, we wouldn't stop," said Astrid with a smile. "And we have things to do." Toothless waggled his head, essentially agreeing with her.

"You could come with," suggested Hiccup. "That way…"

"No, I should go help the Twins," said Astrid. "And I think we'll be okay for the few minutes we're separated." Then she ignored her own advice and moved in to kiss him once more.

It was hardly shocking that they had their lips pressed together again, and no one could certainly blame them for making up for lost time, but Toothless was rapidly losing patience. He forced Hiccup and Astrid to disengage their lip lock by moving into launch position, spreading out his strong wings, and then catapulting into the air.

"Sheesh, bud, a little warning next time," Hiccup complained as they sped into the sky.

Nestor had held out a crazy hope that all this kissing between Hiccup and Astrid would rub off on him somehow and set the mood for his own brand of romance. But after watching Hiccup fly away he turned to speak to Saga and found she was already walking away, heading for the stern of the wreck, where Arc was currently camped. Not one word from her, not even a see-ya-later.

Ever the observant one, Astrid saw the longing look on Nestor's face and came over to his side. "She does care about you, Nestor. I think she cares a lot. She just… has trouble showing it."

"Maybe," said Nestor dejectedly. "Before you and Hiccup got together, I remember Hiccup talking about how it felt like you two were walking up opposite sides of the same hill and yet you couldn't quite get over the crest. I think the hill Saga and I are on is a lot steeper… and sometimes I think Saga isn't even trying to climb it."

"Want some advice on the matter?" she offered.

Nestor shrugged. "Sure."

Astrid took a quick look in Saga's direction, ensuring she wasn't in hearing range, and then said, "I've seen how patient you've been, waiting for her to adjust to her new life and not push her into something she's not ready for, but I'm not sure that's the best approach with Saga. If you haven't noticed, she's a very direct kind of lady. I think the time for waiting is over."

Nestor's forehead wrinkled as he digested the advice. "You think I should go up to her and say, 'Saga, I love you, we should be together," and that'll work?"

Astrid smiled at Nestor's inadvertent admission of his feelings. "I… don't know if I would phrase it that bluntly, but that's the general idea."

"Her brother just died, you know," said Nestor. "Her mind's on other things."

"A brother that kept trying to kill her, remember," said Astrid. "And I've found that it's in the darkest of times that we need to hear good things the most."

"Would that have worked on _you_ if Hiccup had tried it?" said Nestor.

Astrid hemmed and hawed a bit on that one. "Maybe… I don't know. My issues were different. I've had to learn that real love means sticking with someone through all the crazy events in your life. Hiccup is always going to be Hiccup, and he is always going to have something crazy going on. I just think he's worth the crazy."

"He is," agreed Nestor. "But am I?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can I really offer Saga anything? I have no home, no real chance at settling down anywhere, and the only special thing about me came from Arc. What kind of future life can I give her?"

Astrid frowned at his self-depreciating statement. And then in a surprise move, she bent over, picked up a piece of stone debris from the deck, and lobbed it right at Nestor. It harmlessly bounced off his field, but it caught Nestor off-guard enough to rock him back on his heels.

"What the…?" he exclaimed. "Am I wearing a sign that says to throw things at me?"

"Just proving a point," explained Astrid casually.

"What, that my field works?"

"No, that your first reaction isn't to hurt me," said Astrid. "I know you have the ability to take my head off with your bare hands if you wanted to. But no one here is afraid that you will. I have friends back home that I'm pretty sure would go kill-happy if they had what you have. Arc may have given you your power, but you're the one who decides what to do with it."

Nestor's shock had worn off, but he was as yet unconvinced on how this pertained to his would-be love life. "Which means what?"

"It means that while Hiccup can ride and train dragons, it's not why I love him," said Astrid. "If Saga loves you, it's not because you can arm wrestle a frost giant and win. And if you two really want to be together, you'll make it work. But I think it's time for the two of you to climb that stupid hill already." She paused before continuing, a shadow of a darker emotion passing over her face briefly. "Because if I've learned anything from the last two weeks, it's that we never have as much time in this life as we think we do."

* * *

Linebreaker was starting to believe that he had lived a past life where he was either a court jester or a village idiot or one of those other designated roles in society where you were supposed to take abuse over and over. Why else would he have agreed to this?

He stared at the Hunter platform parked off the port side like it might try to eat him if he turned his back. Up until yesterday, he would've said there was not a single thing in this world that he hated. Dislike, sure, but genuine kill-it-with-fire hate? That was for men of a lower nature. But if there was any hate in his heart, it would be directed at that misbegotten flying stone murder machine.

And yet he was wearing the control harness. He had helped Astrid shoo away the remaining mooks aboard, dumping them close to the coast so they couldn't cause any trouble. He was going to do this insanity _again,_ though thankfully he wouldn't be _on_ the cursed thing as he piloted it. No, he'd be transporting a bunch of supplies they needed, directing the platform while riding on the back of Nestor's pet machine.

They had secured a wooden plank between the wreck of the _Cauldron _and the platform. He and the two Vikings that Hiccup called the Twins were busy loading the platforms with foodstuffs. The Twins made for okay labor when they weren't engaged in shenanigans, which was every other minute.

Their dragon was more helpful than they were. It even took orders better than they did, its two long-necked heads gripping cargo by the mouth and shuttling it to the platform. The platform was already half-full of supplies, and they planned on filling every square inch they could with goodies.

Having gotten his angst out of the way, he instead turned to watch Heather work on her new pet project. She had been helping shift cargo as well, but now she was sitting cross-legged on the deck with the remains of two Berserker harnesses and a number of tailoring supplies spread out before her. She had run across them while searching the wreck and it was agreed upon by all that having a working Berserker harness might be worth the temporarily loss in manpower. She was patching one together from the spare parts she'd gathered, and she was making good progress, though she might have gotten further if not for Tuffnut.

"So I hear you're still single," he said, attempting to impress her this time by showing of his item-carrying capabilities. He had a bushel of fruit in his arms that had to be on the heavy side, his arms quivering from the strain.

"You must not have met the right *_**groan***_ guy yet," he added, his face reddening from the exertion.

Heather had politely ignored his previously _silent _attempts to get her attention by keeping her eyes firmly on her work. But now he was directly talking to her and standing in front of her project, his shadow blocking her light. To her credit, she kept things civil. "I'm not in a big rush. My family needs help on the farm."

"Oh, right *_**erg**_*, farming," said Tuffnut. "I've heard that's pretty boring… uh, no, wait, not boring." Unable to think quickly even when he wasn't physically stressed, he looked Linebreaker's way for help. "Quick, what's the word that means the opposite of farming?"

"C'mon, Rosebiter," said Ruffnut, coming up from behind and pushing her brother past Heather. "You can humiliate yourself _after_ we get the job done."

Linebreaker waited for the Twins to move on, then walked up to Heather while she was shaking her head at the silliness. "Do you know of this Rosebiter?"

"A semi-famous Norse poet," explained Heather. "If you're the kind of guy who can't even pronounce the words _iambic pentameter_, much less know how to use it, you tend to fall back on Rosebiter's love poems when wooing women. They tend to be short and full of sickly-sweet metaphors."

Linebreaker's eyebrows rose in curiosity. "Oh, the lady doth show a cultured leaning. And you say you are a farmer?"

"My parents are," replied Heather. "I'm not sure I love the land like they do."

"I would agree. I've known many a farmer. You don't exhibit the necessary skill set."

Heather looked up from her work, intrigued by where this was going. "And what would you say I have?"

Linebreaker mulled the question over before answering. "For starters, I'd say you have feelings for Hiccup."

Heather didn't see that one coming, and her eyes widened. "What?… No… I'm just glad he's…"

"Of all of us gathered, you were the least thrilled to see him and Astrid together," observed Linebreaker. "There must be history."

Heather thought to deny it, but instead she shrugged in a defeated manner. "Not that much history. I really am happy they're together… just… you know…"

"Not _that_ happy," said Linebreaker. "Believe me, I've had a lesson or two in unrequited love myself. It is not an easy thing to square with."

"So how do you handle it?" asked Heather.

Linebreaker gave a hearty laugh before answering the question. "I drown my sorrows in sailing and fashion. Those things never break your heart."

Heather managed a smile for him. "I think you might have the right idea."

"Of course I do. In fact, I think you'd make an excellent sailor."

Heather didn't see that one coming, either. "Me? That's crazy. My family needs me…"

"Your family needs you to earn a living," interrupted Linebreaker. "And you're clearly in need of far more adventure than the simple life can offer. I suggest you think about it, and know that Captain Linebreaker always has a place for you on his ship… provided I still have one when this is all over."

With a simple bow of courtesy, Linebreaker moved to grab more supplies for the platform, leaving Heather with a harness to finishing crafting and an offer to contemplate.

* * *

Qiao had not arrived by the time Saga got to Arc, finding the ancient dragon sprawled on deck with his eyes closed and a memory stick touching his forehead. He had picked an unobstructed spot on the wreck where he could stretch out his sore limbs without getting in the way of the others. Qiao's stash of memory sticks had been arranged in a neat row before him, seven in all if you counted the one in Arc's hand.

Eight, if you counted the one tucked under Saga's belt. The one she had yet to inform anyone about.

Arc grunted once in frustration and then opened his eyes, regarding Saga politely. "How are you feeling, Young Seer?"

"Better than I feel I should," said Saga. "I hold little fondness for my brother, but he still was my brother. Yet… I feel more relief than regret."

"He made his choices," said Arc. "He made you his enemy. It's okay to not mourn those that seek your death."

Saga nodded and said nothing more. This was not a subject she wished to dwell on. She gestured to the memory stick in Arc's hand.

"I fear Qiao's regard of my mystical nature is overblown," he said, putting the memory stick next to the others. "I've tried every technique I know. The Alchemist guards her secrets well."

"Then why did you summon me?" asked Saga. "I know less than you on these matters."

"Qiao told me that you heard one of the sticks… talk," Arc explained. "You heard a voice no one else could."

"I did. But it might have been nothing. It might have been a vision that failed to take root in my mind. I have had those on occasion."

Arc gestured at the sticks. "Do you hear anything now?"

Saga shook her head. "It was very clear before. It was the Alchemist's voice, but she talked as if she had multiple mouths, all of them speaking at the same time."

"The sticks were glowing before as well," said Arc. "I suspect the Alchemist somehow activated the gems within the sticks from afar, enabling the _Cauldron_ to track them. Perhaps while they were active, they were also emitting something only a genuine Seer can hear."

"So you think that I might be able to use them, Hyperion?" Saga mused.

The dragon nodded. "Your mind is different, Young Saga. It sees things the rest of us cannot. Your mind might be the key we need to open the Alchemist's lock."

"Could it be a harmful experience?" said Saga.

"I doubt it," said Arc. "These are but memories, and I wouldn't think the Alchemist would booby-trap a device accessible only by her mind. That said, it was not designed for you, and there is no way of knowing how compatible you are."

Saga thought briefly on the memory stick in her possession. Withholding its existence to her friends was a trust issue, but not against her friends. She had trouble believing that Cragfist, her now-deceased brother, would ever aid her willingly, and so she suspected that the device he had thrown to her might be a trap in disguise. Even though his anger toward the Alchemist had been great enough for him to sacrifice his life, that did not mean he meant her no mischief. If the stick was harmful, she desired to keep the harm contained to herself. But to take the risk, she needed to know how to use it.

"I will do this," she stated. She looked down at the sticks. "Which one?"

"Any one will do," said Arc. "They have scribbling painted on them that I assume is a type of identification that only the Alchemist would understand. Your guess is as good as mine."

Saga scrutinized the sticks and kept her ear trained for the Alchemist's voice, hoping that one of the devices would "speak" to her and give her a clue. None did.

She picked up a stick at random and held it up to her eyes, marveling at the exquisite nature of the crafted gems and the smooth ivory finish of the main cylinder. "What now?"

"Place a gem to your forehead," said Arc. "If it works, you should know almost immediately."

Saga hesitated for a moment longer, and then did exactly as Arc instructed. She placed the closest end of the stick on her forehead, feeling the odd coolness of the stone as it contacted her skin.

Nothing happened at first, certainly not in the "almost immediately" category of happenings. Saga frowned as she pressed the gem into her skin. "Perhaps they have to be activated to…"

Then the world dropped out of existence… and was replaced with something entirely different.

* * *

Imagine that you were flying disembodied above your typical hurricane-class storm, a swirling vortex of cloud and wind and moisture that sailors and coastal residents feared above all else. To your perspective, this storm went on forever, spanning hundreds of miles if not thousands. A terrifying storm that might wipe out everything in its path without mercy.

But there was no sea or ocean, no land or sky, no substance beyond the storm. There was the storm, and there was the void around it. The storm was the world now. The storm was reality.

And once you realized the storm was the only place to go, you were forced to go into it, brave it just to avoid getting lost in the unending void beyond. So you fly in expecting gale-force winds and slapping rain and a few lightning bolts thrown in for good measure.

But instead, you get… voices.

The tuffs of material you mistook for clouds are actually talking out loud. You get close to one and you can hear a constant voice reciting things, like a music box endowed with a human voice instead of tinny tones. The storm was made up of these voices, a weather phenomena composed only of thought.

At first, the cacophony of thought is so overpowering that you seek escape from the barrage, but as time passes you eventually begin to pick out the individual thoughts within the storm. By focusing on one "tuff" instead of the whole storm, you can block out the rest of the thought typhoon and hear the solitary thought on its own.

… _was not attuned correctly to the power gem. I must have used too much zinc in the receptor, or not enough. These devices can be infuriatingly delicate, even temperamental. Project 26 should yield better results – I'm using tungsten there… _

A random thought from a random part of the Alchemist's past. Not very informative, so you abandon it for a different "tuff" nearby.

… _too much spice in the stew last night. Qiao needs to lighten up on the pepper. I suppose I could oversee the dinner preparations, instruct Qiao on the proper way to cook a vegetable stew, but that would require an hour of my time, and hours are precious. Qiao doesn't understand how much you can get done in an hour…_

A different subject, but no more useful than the last thought. You being to suspect that most of the content within the storm are these little random thoughts, a massive dumping ground for the loose contemplations of a brilliant mind. And it is quite the storm, a vast and turbulent thing that defies any pattern. How could anyone find their way through such a disordered maelstrom?

In desperation, you listen in on more thoughts. Your reward is more inane discussions about laundry and cleaning and lengthy experiments composed of dozens of separate trials. None of it tells you anything except that the Alchemist has a very full mind.

Yet… a pattern begins to emerge. After close to a hundred attempts, you see a familiarity between tuffs that contain certain subjects. Matters of food belong to tuffs with a purplish hue. Experiments have redder outlines. Personal thoughts are smaller in size than work-related musings. It may be the emotion of the thought, or the fervency, that colors its manifestation in the memory stick, but there is definitely a rhyme and reason behind the…

* * *

The abrupt end to the experience matched Saga's abrupt return to reality. She came awake still on her feet, feeling like she had been in the deepest of sleeps. She blinked her eyes and rubbed them, for they were surprisingly itchy and sore.

Qiao stood next to her, a hand on the memory stick in Saga's grip, her look one of concern. She must have pulled the stick away from Saga's forehead, thus breaking the link. Arc remained where she'd last seen him, though he had gotten to his feet and now looked troubled.

"You with us now, Saga?" asked Qiao.

"I… am fine," said Saga. "How long was I out?"

"Five minutes or so," said Arc. "You were standing the whole time, eyes wide open. A trance state of a sort. I began to fear you did not know how to end it on your own, so I had Qiao break the link once she arrived."

"Were you in trouble?" said Qiao.

"On the contrary," said Saga, feeling more and more in touch with the world as time progressed. "I was beginning to understand my way around when you interrupted the process."

Qiao released the stick and gave Arc a told-you-so look. "See? I told you it was like sleepwalking. You just don't wake people up from that kind of thing."

"That is a myth," said Arc. "Sleepwalkers can be awoken just as easily as…"

"You said I was under for only five minutes?" said Saga, ignoring the deviation in the discussion.

"Indeed," said Arc. He gave her a scrutinizing expression. "How long was it to you?"

"Much longer," she admitted. "Time is… difficult to ascertain where I was, but it felt like a few hours had gone by."

She described the experience as best she could, Arc nodding the whole time and Qiao looking confused the whole time. Once Saga was done, Arc paused to look toward the horizon and chew on his lip for a moment, then gave Saga his full attention.

"Are you comfortable with repeating the experience?" he asked.

Saga hesitated before answering. "Outside of making sure I close my eyes first next time, I feel no harm will come to me if I continue… though I as yet do not know how to end the journey."

"Maybe the mental storm's the key," said Qiao. "If going _to_ the storm gives you access to Alche's thoughts, then the reverse might kick you out."

"It is worth a try," said Arc. "And we can ensure that you don't stay under for too long."

"An agreeable gesture," said Saga. "But unnecessary. I will determine how long I stay under." She gave the memory stick in her hands a long look. "These sticks contain the knowledge of the Alchemist, and though it may take me a lengthy time to achieve it, I _will_ figure out her intentions. We must uncover the Alchemist's true plans, and soon, or else I fear that all our efforts will come to naught."


	16. Clear Skies

**Chapter Fifteen: Clear Skies**

Most people didn't consider clear skies problematic. An open sky brought the sun and the moon and the stars out to shine and made the world more magical, more alive. Clouds had their place, but too many depressed the mood. Perhaps it was human nature to yearn for a sky free of obstruction and full of light, to see clouds as harbingers of ill fortune and dark tidings.

Yet Lord Dunkirk had it all reversed. As he stood on his private balcony and examined the darkening sky, he felt like a clear sky was a curse in disguise. It allowed you to see _everything_, which included the problems that were coming your way.

Some might say that it was good to have such foresight. A problem you saw coming was one you could prepare for. But what if there were no adequate preparations for what was coming? What if you were helpless to stop the inevitable? Seeing the future would serve to rob you of any momentary joy and accomplish nothing else. At such times, a clear sky worked against you.

His feelings were very dire this evening, and not even the multicolored sunset painting the hills to the west could enliven his thoughts. Yesterday's Lords Meeting had gone worse than he expected. Lord Benzyl had used every trick of procedure and proper etiquette to nicely call him a foolish dreamer and a scaremonger. Dunkirk hadn't taken it too personally – this was the theater of politics, and Lord Benzyl was still a family friend – but Dunkirk's proposal for expanding the Riki Poka Navy had been well and truly snuffed out. The Lords were concerned about the Alchemist's return, but nowhere near concerned enough to pay for increased protection. They wouldn't even ask _volunteers_ to assist in patrols, fearful that too much security would drive away trade. The status quo would be maintained and everything would go back to profitable normalcy.

Dunkirk had canceled this morning's breakfast with Lord Benzyl on account of intestinal issues. Technically not a lie, as looking at Benzyl made Dunkirk lose his appetite. This was more than just a political disagreement. Lord Benzyl was leaving Riki Poka wide open to invasion, and Dunkirk couldn't even raise his own navy without approval from the Lords, not unless he wanted to risk legal charges.

He had a fleeting idea to take a long vacation along the coast, a lengthy affair that would keep him out of politics for a time. The Lords didn't want him around, and he sure didn't want their company. But the people of the city didn't have such luxuries as private ships and vacation cottages. If the city was attacked, it would be the people that suffered for it. A Lord was supposed to defend his city, and that meant _all _of his city, not just the mansions and the merchants.

Even though there were lookouts on the hills, Dunkirk felt the need to keep vigil on the sea tonight. At least one Lord would be watching for trouble, even if there was little he could do if trouble was sighted. The lookouts had beacon fires to light if a pirate ship or war fleet approached. All he had was an old horse named Tucker that couldn't gallop for longer than a minute these days.

It was fitting that his thoughts were on the lookout beacons as one of them suddenly flared into life.

Lulled into a spacey state by the ocean and his dreary thoughts, Dunkirk took a second to register the beacon's appearance before the implications set in. The beacon was little more than a great bonfire composed of treated wood, a big smoky blaze that could be seen from all across the city. It was the lookout on the western approach, when meant that something was coming from that direction. But he corrected that misconception when a second beacon blazed into life, this time on the eastern lookout station. If both lookouts were reporting a sighting, that meant the threat was coming at Riki Poka straight on.

Dunkirk strained to see what approached the city, the sunset proving a hindrance as the dying sunlight cast out a final glare to obscure the eyes. He saw a number of ships in the harbor, most of them heading for their docks as darkness approached, but he didn't see any incoming ships. To panic both lookouts into lighting their beacons, there had to be an armada arriving. But the ocean shoved no arriving vessels, no sign of trouble.

There were a few strange birds in the air, though. Birds that weren't moving along the coast but appeared to be getting closer, coming right for the city. And as they got closer, they quickly lost any bird-like status, becoming more ship-like and far, far, _far_ larger than any sea bird in existence.

Dunkirk didn't believe it, _couldn't_ believe it. That lack of belief prevented him from running for his horse and dashing for Governance Hall, for a mind that doesn't comprehend is a mind that has trouble reacting. What he had feared was coming true, but not in the manner that he had ever thought possible.

It was a fleet of warships… and they were _flying_, defying the ground and the sea and every bit of common sense bred into Dunkirk's bones. Worse (and he didn't use the term _worse_ casually), there was something else beyond the flying armada. Something huge and terrifying, and floating along with the same carefree dismissal of nature as the ships that traveled before it.

It was a towering structure shaped like a five-armed octopus or squid or starfish, covered in thousands of starry lights from its base to the top of its alien arms, and it was coming toward them. The ocean frothed from its passage, as if the invisible force propelling it along did so by violently pushing against the earth itself. Both terrible and yet beautiful to behold, it transfixed Dunkirk with its otherworldly appearance.

A short booming sound rang out from the approaching ships, and a second later the western beacon ceased to exist, replaced by an explosion of dirt and debris. A second boom occurred and the eastern beacon did likewise. The destruction of the beacons snapped Dunkirk out of his addled stupor, and he raced back inside his home. The ships were initiating hostilities, and his city needed him.

With no time to waste on donning formal war or his royal suit of armor, Dunkirk left his room and headed for his personal stable to fetch Tucker. Along the way, he told one of his servants to gather up the rest of his staff and have them find shelter in the cellar until further notice. He wouldn't be joining them; he needed to get to the Governance Hall and get the word out to the militia. Without the lookout beacons to alert the entire city, there would be no coordinated response. There would be only chaos.

Dunkirk wasn't sure if any adequate response was possible, not against what he'd just seen, but he wasn't about to face his destiny huddling in his mansion.

* * *

Indeed, chaos was the order of the day, especially for the crew of the ocean-going vessels that sailed the bay and for the city dwellers who lived and did business along the ample city docks. Most residents of Riki Poka had never had the experience of seeing dragons flying overhead, much less giant warships that looked more carved than built, and the sight of the fleet slowly crossing the air above them sent many people running for home, for shelter, or just running away from the approaching horror. Others stood in the streets, looking up at the approaching armada, too dumbfounded to do much else.

The Alchemist stood on the deck of the _Zenith, _her faithful half-metal Night Fury next to her, and she felt no satisfaction at seeing the masses in such a tizzy. If fear had been her true objective, there were far easier ways to invoke it. Fear was yet another tool in her arsenal. It was the best tool, in fact. Right now, many of those frightened people were remembering all those silly rumors from weeks ago, the ones that spoke of insane powers that could call down death from the sky. They would remember the name of the woman who could bring the thunder, and it would make the panic all the more powerful.

But rumors weren't enough. Fear wasn't enough. People frequently needed a tremendous amount of persuasion before they became cooperative. Thankfully, the Alchemist knew many different forms of persuasion.

As she stepped onto Dark Star's back and secured herself to the dragon's metal spine, she activated her armband and gave out careful instructions to her captains. She could sense her men's excitement, the soldiers clambering for combat and the spoils that went with it. She cautioned them to keep in line, for there would be rewards aplenty but only if they didn't lose control of their egos and urges.

The warships spread themselves out further, adopting a straight line that covered the width of the city. They gained altitude as they advanced through the sky, high enough for the entire city to gaze at but low enough so that the people immediately below could see the holes forming along the sides of the ships and wonder what new sorcery was afoot.

Then the air was full of noise, both from below and from above, as explosive projectiles left the holes and found their targets below. The first targets were the ships in the bay, many of them abruptly splitting in half as fast-moving rocks slammed into, and through, their insignificant hulls. Next came the docks and piers, rent asunder as the pillars that supported them fell away, dumping cargo and a few unlucky sailors into the sea. The roofs of various warehouses disappeared, replaced by jagged holes or shaved off completely.

Random streets were targeted, the earth bucking and cracking as huge craters formed in the well-maintained roads, rendering them unusable. The Open Museum, a cherished landmark of the city's impoverished, was hit by a salvo of siege cannons and reduced to rubble within seconds. Even the city park took several hits, felling a number of trees that had existed since the city's founding over a century ago.

For the people of Riki Poka, the bombardment lasted an eternity. In truth, it lasted only thirty seconds, and most of the property damage was limited to the business section of the city, largely vacant at this time of day. Once the cannons had ceased their attack and their deafening roars quieted, the air rang with the cries of panic from across the city. Now properly motivated, the throngs ran for their lives, crowds running into other crowds and spreading infectious fear all over the city.

Next came a different type of barrage, as a wing of Hunter platforms lifted off from their carriers and proceeded down to the city, skirting just above the rooftops and continuing to drive unmitigated terror into the hearts of the populace. They numbered close to three-dozen platforms, but unlike the warships they fired no weapon and committed no hostile act. They were in place to remind the people that there was no hiding place, no shelter, and no escape.

As the Hunters launched, the Alchemist took to the air on Dark Star's back, inspecting the proceedings and nodding with grim approval. She had pre-planned this barrage, picking out targets of sentimental and economic worth to the people. Her captains had been ordered to minimize civilian casualties – the spilling of blood frequently made cooperation difficult, and she wanted the city as cooperative as possible. It made the endgame easier.

Alas, it wasn't all going according to plan, the proof being Cervantes's continuing existence. To push the point, the skeletal mishmash of Guardian and necromancer had found the Alchemist in the air and was flying at her wing, as if feeling the need to guard her. Dark Star growled ominously to convey her disdain, but Cervantes paid it no heed.

_So far, so good_, commented Cervantes. _But then it wasn't much of a contest, was it? More of an ant- versus- aardvark affair. _

"Do you need something, Cervantes?" she asked.

_Not particularly, _he replied. _I'm merely admiring your efficiency… and I would add that it's not too late to alter the plan a bit, exact some tribute or slaves before we…_

"The plan does not change," declared the Alchemist, "and you'd be wise to keep your suggestions to yourself. Now, instead of wasting my time with idle chatter, help me locate the Governance Hall. I've forgotten how different everything looks at night."

* * *

Dunkirk's ride through his beloved city was a parade of disheartening events. Tucker was not the nimble steed he once was and Dunkirk forced him to slow down as the throngs fled through the streets, flowing around him like a river made of humanity. Without his normal regal clothing or decals to mark him as royalty, most people failed to recognize him, and his calls for calm and order went largely unheeded.

Worse still was the chorus of destruction that sang out around him as the airships unleashed hell upon the city. Fearing the worst, he had stopped Tucker under the eaves of the local bathhouse and watched the flying armada ravage the docks with some kind of super-fast catapult-like weaponry. The explosions echoed like hideous thunder, and the city reeled as if struck like by a thousand rockslides.

Mercifully, the assault ended quickly and left most of the city intact, but the people were now driven by pure terror, and the streets were even more choked with fleeing civilians than before.

Dunkirk no longer held any illusions about rallying the defenses. The armada was flying too high for catapults or arrows to target. They could rain down annihilation with impunity. Dunkirk had a feeling that this was the point of the initial attack – to demonstrate how utterly defenseless Riki Poka was against the Alchemist.

But duty compelled him to drive Tucker forward through the crowds. He wouldn't abandon his city to such invaders as these. There had to be something he could do. He needed to coordinate with the other Lords at the Governance Hall to plan a response.

Compared to the other venerable landmarks in Riki Poka, the Governance Hall was pretty mundane. It was little more than a simple three-story building that blended in with the other buildings around it, built for practicality rather than opulence. Because the city had no formal monarchy and was ruled by a consensus of Lords, the Lords kept the building basic and sparsely decorated. It made it less of a target in times of invasion, as the occupants of fancier buildings were typically the first victims of raiders and pillagers.

Crowds had formed around the Hall as Dunkirk arrived, people clambering to get inside, citizens pleading for answers and action. The guard was already out and ringing the building, and they quickly ushered Dunkirk through the front doors before he could get mobbed by fear-ridden residents.

Before he could ask about the other Lords, Dunkirk found himself escorted up to the main meeting chamber on the third floor. Apparently the other Lords were already in attendance and he was the last one to arrive. His bad luck to have to fight through the fleeing crowds, it seems.

As the doors to the meeting chamber opened, Dunkirk expected a chamber full of frightened leaders of commerce to be yelling at one another. Meetings were often little more than controlled chaos held together by procedure and etiquette, and there would be little of either tonight. But the dead silence that awaited him as he entered the chamber filled him with far more anxiety than any assemblage of noisy bureaucrats ever could.

Dunkirk made a rough count of the Lords in attendance and found that all four-dozen Lords were present. They sat in their chairs like school pupils listening to a lecture, eyes fixed forward. The teacher in this case was a brown-haired woman in a plain uniform, parts of her wardrobe decked out with glowing stones. She stood in the middle of the room with a very take-charge demeanor, positioned at the speaker's podium, and it looked like Dunkirk had interrupted her speech with his late arrival.

"Oh, good, the last Lord has arrived," the woman said. "Very quickly, know that I'm the Alchemist, pomp and circumstance, take a seat please."

Dunkirk looked at the rest of the Lords and saw the general cowed attitude in their faces. They weren't about to put up a fight here. Wisdom suggested that he follow suit. He found his designated chair and sat down, feeling like all the wind in his sails had just been sucked away. The fight, it seemed, was over before it even started.

So this was the Alchemist. Such a dangerous woman in such an unassuming package. Her entourage was far more dramatic. The dragon in the room was particularly unnerving, a black creature with feline features, half its body covered in shiny metal, its one artificial red eye starring at the gathered Lords with unmistakable menace. He didn't have to guess at how the dragon had gotten into the enclosed chamber, considering that the wall behind the dragon was half gone, the room exposed to the chill night air.

The Alchemist had more friends as well, a big brute and a more lithe fellow with twin swords on his back and a tattooed scalp. Both men paced in front of the Lords, as if policing them. There were a few more of her men hanging out on one of the floating platforms just outside the hole, and they had crossbows at the ready. Dunkirk suspected he had more to fear from the Alchemist's minions inside the room than the ones outside.

The Alchemist cleared her throat and resumed her speech. "I didn't come her to fight, my Lords. True, as you might have noticed, I have brought the entirety of my army here, and I have inflicted damage to your fair city. But it is a fraction of the true damage my forces could exact on your people, had I wished to do so. I was simply spelling out where the power in this new relationship stands. But though I threaten, I can also reward."

She snapped a finger toward the men on the platform, which was their cue to carry forth a piece of cargo into the chamber. It was a small chest, the kind you might store personal keepsakes in rather than valuable treasure, though it had to weigh a lot considering how its two porters strained under it. They plopped it down in front of the Alchemist and stood away, allowing their leader to ceremoniously undo the lock and open the chest.

The forward rows had a better sight of what lay inside the chest, and their murmurs suggested the contents were quite valuable. Then the burly bodyguard came over and lifted the chest all by himself, as easily as lifting a pillow. He walked the rows of Lords and showed them all the chest's contents, the murmuring increasing in excitement as the contents became more visible.

Stuck in the back, Dunkirk was last to see the big deal, and he had to admit that it was a big deal. Even a small chest stacked with so many rubies and emeralds and diamonds would equal a king's ransom in any kingdom or empire. Dunkirk wasn't so easily impressed, certainly not enough to dispel his suspicions surrounding the Alchemist's arrival, but he knew that many of the Lords just had their cooperation firmly bought off.

"I believe that should cover the damages to your city and then some," said the Alchemist. "You are free to have your jewelers inspect them, but I doubt they will find any flaws. Gems and jewels happen to be my expertise. Consider this a consolation prize for your troubles."

One of the Lords finally deigned to speak up, and Dunkirk was astonished to see that it was Lord Benzyl. The portly Lord seemed a tad nervous as he stood up, attracting the attention of everyone in the room, but his determination was clear.

"Forgive me for being blunt," said Lord Benzyl, "but we have yet to hear why you need our city."

There was a tense hush in the air as the Lords awaited either an answer from the Alchemist or some kind of punishment delivered onto Lord Benzyl. It was the answer that won the day, the Alchemist chuckling at the Lord's reasonable question. "I did do this backwards, didn't I? Let me fix that."

She gestured to the hole leading outside, where there was a lovely view of the twilight sky above the city. The thing hovering over the city was far less lovely, the horrid-looking crystal structure silhouetted against the shadowed hills as it leisurely moved toward an unspecified location, escorted by a pair of the Alchemist's warships and a number of her platforms. Dunkirk's stomach knotted up during every second he looked at the thing. If this was another gift from the Alchemist, it was one the Lords should adamantly refuse.

"Many of you have heard the rumors of what occurred at Outcast Bay weeks ago," said the Alchemist. "The sky opened up and hideous light poured down, destroying all that it touched, or something along those lines. I'm sure many of you dismissed it as fantasy or obfuscation. I'm here to tell you that it was the truth and that it wasn't a random occurrence. I did all that, using a special artifact to summon the Scouring to our world. I did it because… I'm selling it to the highest bidder. Only I've decided not to sell the original prototype. I'm selling its big brother."

She gestured again to the floating structure, and Dunkirk felt his stomach squeeze into a tiny ball of horror. From what he had heard on the grapevine, the Alchemist had used a man-portable statue made of crystal during her demonstration in Outcast Bay. _This_ thing was bigger than the Hinesburg Bell Tower, the city's tallest structure. How much power was contained within that structure? Enough to destroy an army… or a city?

"This is the kind of device that can make or break empires, my Lords," she continued. "This is the kind of device that changes _everything_. So you should all feel proud to be part of such history-making. You should also know that it will make Riki Poka the most talked-about city for years to come."

"But why us?" asked Lord Benzyl, more confident now that he knew he wouldn't die just for asking questions. "Why Riki Poka?"

"Because Riki Poka is the largest trade center along the Mediterranean. You have a list of contacts and relationships with other city-states and kingdoms and empires that I could never match should I live another century. From here, word will spread to a hundred different ports. And it will go much faster if I have your cooperation. I ask for five days of your city's time. You will send word of my device to all the known leaders that you are on friendly terms with, and you will tell them that I intend to begin negotiations with those leaders or emissaries who show up by the fifth day of my stay here. After that, I will sell my device to the leader with the best offer and then be gone from your lives. And if you wish to partake in the bargaining, Riki Poka itself could become a great power as well."

"If that's your goal, then why didn't you just ask us?" said another Lord, one not so brave as to stand up and be recognized.

The Alchemist laughed at the notion. "None of you know me except through rumor. I doubt I could've gotten a proper reception from any of you, much less have you believe my claims. And then you'd demand conditions and more payment and a cut of the profits and so on. Let me be absolutely clear here – I'm being _nice_ to you. I certainly don't have to be. I doubt there's a single weapon in your arsenal that could even reach my ships, much less damage them."

The implied threat silenced the murmuring. Even Lord Benzyl took the hint and sat back down, not wanting to raise the ire of the Alchemist.

"My forces will behave themselves as long as your people do the same," said the Alchemist. "They will pay for any services your city provides, and they are under strict orders to obey your laws, with one exception. I am placing my device on one of the hills near your city. That hill is now off-limits to all residents. Anyone caught on the hill will be summarily executed, so I would dissuade your people from sightseeing. Also, you should reassure your people that life will go on as usual. If too many disturbances occur, I will intervene. If you cannot handle your subjects, then _I_ will handle them instead."

She snapped her fingers again, signaling her bodyguards to head back to the platform, the big one still carrying the gem chest. She then climbed onto the dragon's back as she finished her speech.

"Have twenty of your best couriers ready to go by sunrise tomorrow. I will instruct them personally. Make sure they have the proper credentials as well. And I'd advise that none of you attempt to slink out of the city during the night, for I'll find out and I won't be pleased. If you cooperate, this can be a profitable venture for all of us. If not, it will only be profitable for one of us."

With the Alchemist affixed to her back, the dragon abruptly turned around and launched into the air, zooming right out the hole and into the night air. The platform took off after them, trailing far behind and with far less grace than the half-metal dragon. They left behind a room full of bewildered Lords, few of them willing to give voice to their apoplexy, or even willing to acknowledge what had just transpired inside the Governance Hall.

With barely any effort, the Alchemist had just taken Riki Poka from them.

* * *

The impromptu Meeting that followed was not a happy one, and it doesn't bear dwelling on. Dunkirk didn't speak at all, for he had no helpful or kind words to say. The decisions made were foregone decisions, for there was little fight in the Lords after such a display of power. They designated someone to round up the couriers, another someone to get the word out to the people about the Alchemist's edicts, and a third someone to commission an architect to repair the damage to the Hall.

If anyone suggested some kind of resistance to the Alchemist's plans, Dunkirk missed it entirely.

With the Meeting concluded, the Lords filed out to do damage control and attend to their affairs. Dunkirk might have done the same had he not walked by Lord Benzyl, the man sitting in a chair down a side corridor and looking like he'd just been told that all the grapes in Riki Poka had gone bad. While sad expressions were aplenty among the Lords, his was of a different nature, and it drew Dunkirk to him.

Lord Benzyl didn't greet Dunkirk when he took a seat next to him, clearly lost in his own thoughts. But after a time, he finally sighed and gave Dunkirk a brisk glance before speaking, though he kept staring at the featureless wall in front of him as he spoke.

"Have you come for your I-told-you-sos?" he said.

Dunkirk shook his head. "Even if we had increased the size of the Navy, I doubt it would've made any difference."

"You had the right idea, though," admitted Benzyl. "And I besmirched you for it. I hate it when I find out I've been fighting the wrong battles."

"Then help me fight the right one," said Dunkirk, keeping his voice low so that the other Lords didn't hear. Most of them were too busy thinking about their own skins to care, but that didn't mean that one or two of them wouldn't sell out their fellow Lords to get on the Alchemist's good side.

"How?" said Benzyl skeptically, matching Dunkirk's volume. "You saw what we all saw. You heard what we all heard."

"Except I don't believe it," said Dunkirk. "She's gone to a lot of effort just to sell a weapon. This doesn't pass the smell test. I don't know this Alchemist, but I suspect that her reasons have nothing to do with money."

"Agreed,' said Benzyl. "No one invades a city just to set up a meeting. But, again, what can we do about it?"

"You and I have friends in the militia. We can shore up support, get information on the Alchemist's forces – troop numbers, movements, plans – and prepare for a city evacuation."

"You believe it's that dire?"

"I believe that we'd be wise to plan ahead now than to wait five days, when our options will probably become moot."

Lord Benzyl thought about this for a time, and to his continuing credit he didn't shake his head. He didn't exactly approve of it, either. "The other Lords won't go for this, you understand."

"I do," Dunkirk replied dejectedly. "If it's just us two, then so be it."

Lord Benzyl thought it over more, and then he finally nodded. "I will come with you to your home, and from there we will do what we can for our city." He gave Dunkirk a very perturbed look. "I dearly hope that these next five days will not be our final ones."

"You and me both," replied Dunkirk.


	17. Boots Off Day

**Chapter Sixteen: Boots Off Day**

There is a tradition in Berk dubbed Boot Night, and it is a tradition that no one outside of Berk has ever heard of, for very good reasons. Most cultures prefer to keep the unattractive traditions to themselves.

It's actually pretty simple: you take off your boots and air them out overnight so that the atmosphere in your house didn't get smellier than it already was. The whole village did this together so that village only smelled rancid for one night each week, instead of spreading it around and adding one more hardship to life in Berk.

This wasn't a problem for the Champions, who didn't have a home to stink up. They weren't even staying in one place long enough to worry about things like rampant foot odor. That is, not until the day after their victory against the Alchemist's forces, when they found themselves back in familiar territory at last.

The group had finished gathering supplies, information, and anything else deemed useful, and had taken off on their dragons and assorted flying things with the plan of getting as much distance between them and the wreck of the _Cauldron _as possible. Despite the growing fatigue amongst the group (particularly Hiccup's band, who had flown through the night to reach Astrid's band in time), they managed to put in several hours of hard flying, reaching the desired destination Arc had picked out for them.

His cabin in the woods.

Not much had changed since they'd left. The grass had grown wilder and the cabin was as dumpy as before, overrun with several rat families that had moved in after the humans had moved on, but after the last three weeks of travel and battle, it felt like a veritable paradise nestled in the thick forest. It was also within dragon-travel distance of Riki Poka, the place where the Alchemist had taken her armada, and it would serve as a base of operations.

Best of all, it still had useable tools in the blacksmith section of the cabin, which gave Hiccup everything he needed to get his foot, saddle, and rudder back to full strength, though the repairs Proto did to his foot were working out great. It also meant he could attend to a special project Arc had commissioned him to do, one that Hiccup found both intriguing and disconcerting simultaneously.

But they still had a problem that no amount of smithing would fix: exhaustion. They had been running on battle fever and anxiety for too long, and though the more positive feelings of joy and excitement had replaced them, it had still been a very taxing month. Even a decent night's rest hadn't taken away the fatigue-based dissatisfaction people were beginning to feel.

If the need had required it, they certainly could have soldiered on. Thanks to Proto and the conduit capacitor inside him, they knew Riki Poka was in the hands of the Alchemist, and that fed Arc's sense of urgency, the belief that a deadline was in play. But she was occupying the city, not attacking it. Her plans were still unknown, but her army remained strong, and everyone agreed that rushing to Riki Poka was a bad idea. Saga was deciphering the memory sticks as fast as she could manage, but until she could find something useful on the Alchemist, they remained dangerously in the dark about their enemy's final agenda.

More so, the other Hyperions hadn't arrived yet. This wasn't uncommon, as Rejuvenations were far more taxing to the healthy Hyperions than to the injured one. Arc had forced himself into action earlier than was wise, and even he had to admit that he could stand more rest as well. Besides, to take on the Alchemist's armada, they would need the Hyperions to act… and, alas, it was not a given that they would. It was an important detail he had yet to share with the others, for he didn't want to spoil the hard-won pleasant atmosphere until it was necessary.

It just so happened that it was the time of the week when Boot Night usually occurred, and it gave Hiccup a moment of inspiration – Boots Off Day. One solid morning and afternoon of nothing but rest, relaxation, and whatever was doable within the confines of the camp. Give everyone a chance to recuperate, and it would give them the strength for the inevitable final battle.

There were no arguments whatsoever against the idea… except for Proto, who didn't know what _exhaustion_ really meant in terms of organisms. Nestor had to spend some time explaining the concept to him, which was, by itself, an exhausting affair.

* * *

While the boots-off part of Boots Off Day was optional, everyone with boots to wear followed both the spirit and the law (with one half-reluctant exception that eventually got corrected). The grass around the cabin was soft and plentiful, and the partly clouded skies were supplying lots of ample sunbeams. It was as almost as if the weather gods were on their side for a change, allowing them this quiet respite.

Hiccup and Astrid staked out a corner of the clearing where there were equal parts sun and shade. Toothless was close at hand as well, but he willingly gave Hiccup and Astrid the alone time they'd been deprived of for too long. This didn't put out Toothless at all. Give a Night Fury a belly full of fresh fish, take off his saddle and rudder linkup, and allow him plenty of freedom, and he is actually capable of relaxing. He spent much of the day happily laid out on the grass, napping the entire time.

Hiccup and Astrid weren't exactly doing anything exciting, either. The two of them spent their time lounging on the grass in each other's arms, Astrid's head on Hiccup's shoulder. One of those wonderfully peaceful moments that Hiccup had thought forever denied to him not so long ago. The fact that he was here, holding Astrid again, was almost too miraculous to be believed. He even had the irrational notion that this might be a dream and Astrid might disappear again, evaporate back to that ethereal place where dreams come from, if he stopped paying attention to her, and that fear kept him from nodding off despite his contented drowsiness.

He first settled on naming the clouds that strolled through the sky, but he soon started worrying about whether one of those clouds might be an Alchemist airship in disguise. Not the calm direction he wanted to go. That left conversation, but he didn't want to disturb Astrid if she was already asleep. So what else? Brainstorming on that project Arc had given him, maybe, or how about that other idea he had, the one concerning a safety device that could slow the fall of a falling rider…

"I can hear you thinking," said Astrid, her voice mellow and relaxed.

"Is my brain that loud?" he joked. Not wanting to ruin the moment by discussing his concerns, he thought up a different subject to tell Astrid.

"I was… just thinking how much I miss grass. Nice and green and lively. Not much of it lives in the desert."

"The desert didn't sound like a fun place to live," said Astrid.

"It's almost the exact opposite of Berk," said Hiccup. "Oddly enough, that doesn't make it any better."

Astrid laughed lightly. "Nothing beats home, does it?"

"I guess not." Hiccup paused, the mention of home bringing to mind his brief encounter with his old Dragon Squad and the terrible news he had given them. Next time he saw Snotlout and Fishlegs, the news would be far better.

"Remind me to send a letter home when we get the chance," said Hiccup. "It just occurred to me that the whole village thinks you're still dead."

He immediately regretted saying that as he felt Astrid tense up from the realization. So much for not spoiling the mood. "Oh, Gods, my parents," she said. "I didn't even think about it until now."

Hiccup mentally kicked himself. Good job there. "I'm sure they're okay."

She raised her head and looked Hiccup in the eyes. "Were you?"

Hiccup saw this relaxing moment quickly going down in flames, but he wasn't about to lie to Astrid after all this. "No, I wasn't." he said quietly. "I didn't think I was ever going to be okay again."

Despite his pseudo-manly efforts to move beyond the old hurt, some of his pain must have been visible on his face. Astrid's face softened and she gave him a tender kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry you went through that. When I thought you were dead, I had Saga to come along and correct me after a couple of hours. You felt it for weeks."

"Astrid, I'm not comparing our suffering," replied Hiccup. "I'm just glad it's over. I'm just really, _really_ glad you're back."

She smiled at him and went back to relaxing against his side. "I'm just glad you're still you, Hiccup. Stuff like that can change people."

_It probably would have_, Hiccup thought to himself. There was no way he was going to voice it.

"It helped that I wasn't alone, Astrid," he said reassuringly. "I had Toothless. I had Nestor. I even had the Twins. They made the pain… tolerable. I guess friends are good for something, right?"

"They are," agreed Astrid. "We wouldn't even be having this conversation if not for Saga and Heather and the others. But whatever happens from here on out, whatever battles we have left to fight, we're fighting them together. Promise?"

"Promise," he said, mostly in a knee-jerk romantic fashion, the two of them slipping back into their previous contented mood. Hiccup even allowed himself to finally doze off, as if their talk had made things real again, or at least real enough for him to relax.

If he had stopped to think about, he might not have made the promise. Not because he didn't want Astrid at his side, but because he knew that sometimes the best way to protect someone… was to make sure they were nowhere near you.

* * *

The opposite side of the clearing sported a quartet of young adults, taking advantage of the sun in the laziest of ways. Ruffnut, Heather, and Qiao were on their stomachs and arranged in a semi-circle, casually kicking their feet and enjoying a little warrior-girl talk.

There was also Tuffnut, but he had long since fallen asleep while listening to his sister and new friends yak it up about things not pertaining to exciting man-subjects. His snoring did occasionally distract the others until he quieted again. Even in sleep, he successfully annoyed.

There was also a two-headed dragon, also snoring away the day, but he wasn't at all interesting. Another victim of too many fish.

Linebreaker was also present, but he had a focus of his own. He had strung up a clothesline between a pair of trees and was in the process of laying out clothing for mending and stain removal. He wore a more pedestrian getup while he sewed and scrubbed out his more elaborate wear. This was apparently his version of relaxation, and he was quite content, so no one bothered him.

"So you really are twenty-thousand years old?" said Heather, her question directed at Qiao.

Qiao made a funny face. "Technically, yes, I was born that long ago."

"You look pretty good for being twenty-thousand years old," commented Ruffnut.

"I've only been alive for eighteen years of it. Alche would put us in something she called temporal stasis for hundreds of years at a time. I'd go asleep with mile-high glaciers covering our island, and I'd wake up to barren rock and the Roman Empire as our next-door neighbor."

"How did it feel?" asked Heather. "I'd think seeing the world change over all that time would make you feel all discombobulated."

Ruffnut now made the funny face. "Dis… com… what?"

"Weird," Heather elaborated.

"You get used to it," said Qiao. "But I didn't actually see that many different time periods. Alche made her pet monster go out and take a look most of the time. She was always searching for just the right civilization, that one perfect culture she could support and help out. But she never found one she liked."

"And she finally came out because you left?" said Ruffnut.

Qiao shrugged. "Apparently. If I'd know she was going to go power-crazy after my departure… well, I probably still would've left, but I would've told her, 'Don't go power-crazy while I'm gone.' Might have helped somehow."

"And you call her Alche," said Heather. "Back on the island, anyone who referred to her as anything other than the Alchemist got outhouse duty for a week."

Qiao's face got serious all of a sudden. "What was it like, working under her?"

"She was strict, but not cruel or malicious," explained Heather. "I didn't meet her until she teleported into the storeroom I was guarding, so I can't say I knew her that well. But I got the impression that she didn't really want to be doing what she was doing. I think she was happiest when she was building devices and artifacts, not leading an army."

Qiao nodded and sighed as she reminisced on her upbringing. "That sounds more like the Alche I know, though sometimes I wonder if I really ever knew her."

"But she did teach you how to be a thief, right?" asked Ruffnut.

Qiao sent a weird stare Ruffnut's way. "Uh… no, that was self-taught."

Ruffnut actually looked disappointed. "Nuts. For a second there, she sounded like a really cool parent."

* * *

…_I wasn't sure this was worth recording until now. It's an interesting anecdote, but I'm not sure what to do with it. I suppose I could classify it as a real-time unintentional social experiment and go from there. Let's make it official:_

_Year 20014 (or 914, if going by the common calendar): almost two months ago, Dark Star was out on patrol around the island when she detected a boat less than a day's sailing away. Their course would most certainly intersect with my island, though I doubt it was on purpose. Most of the primitives don't even know the island exists. From time to time, I've had to remove wayward explorers of my sanctuary who had overstayed their welcome, and I now simply ensure that none ever set foot on the island. It's easier that way._

_I was prepared to make this ship disappear without a trace, using Dark Star's negative energy attack, but this time around I hesitated to give the go-ahead. Ships may disappear all the time, but sometimes it triggered other ships to come search for their lost compatriots. The sea-lanes had been picking up traffic lately as well. If not this ship, then another would eventually find the island. _

_I felt it was time to alter the solution._

_I had Dark Star put on the scare tactics, late at night while the moon was hidden and the stars covered up by clouds. She flew around the ship like a crazed raptor, cloaking and uncloaking, screeching hideous cries with her voice box, diving at the sailors from out of nowhere, tearing the edges of their sails. She avoided damaging the ship beyond repair, as well as keeping injuries to a minimum. I wanted them terrorized, not dead._

_Her attacks intensified the closer the ship came to the island, and when the sailors finally decided to turn around and try a different route, her attacks ceased. The sailors never got a good look at her, and what little they did see inspired them to believe a sea demon had come to claim them. That particular ship never came anywhere near the island again._

_A second ship appeared two weeks later, the same model as the first one and flying the same colors. I assumed it was from the port that the first ship had called from, the crew either ignorant of the first ship's experience or crewed with a captain full of bravado. I sent Dark Star out to give them the same treatment. Like before, the crew eventually had enough and sailed away for less demon-filled waters._

_This time, I had Dark Star follow them and listen in on their conversations while cloaked, using a new device I had created for trapping and replaying sound. As it turned out, the crew __**had **__been aware of the first ship's encounter, and this experience clinched it. Something bad traveled this part of the ocean, and there was no point risking their necks for a new trade route. They swore to tell their fellow sailors, their families, and their love ones to steer well clear of this route._

_No ships have come my way ever since. _

_I remained curious about the long-term impact of my actions, so I decided to do one more experiment. I sent Dark Star out to a nearby sea-lane and had her harass several merchant ships, brief encounters designed to rattle a lookout or two but nothing more intense. This put the crews on edge, making their tongues looser in the process. I used Dark Star to eavesdrop once again. Their conversations consisted of whispers of a flying sea demon; something called the Sea Wraith, a malevolent entity that plucked hapless sailors in the dead of night. It made its home near the Dead Isles, an uncharted group of islands to the south (and which don't exist). None went to those islands and lived to tell the tale._

_Amazing, really. With little facts to go on, the local sailing community had constructed a new myth to fit the terrifying tales they had heard from their fellow seamen. Fear and ignorance drove them to declare an entire fictional island chain off limits, without even seeing the islands in question._

_Make humans face something they can't explain, or even combat, and they find a way to justify not facing it at all._

_Fear isn't just a primal emotion – it's a tool. _

_It's a means of controlling…_

Saga didn't hear the final words. The turbulent world of the memory-stick suddenly gave way to bright reality, and she jumped in her seat from the abrupt transition, the moss-covered log she sat upon shaking from the jostling. She had learned to keep her eyes shut while probing the memory-stick, but the jarring sensation of going from a disembodied mind to a flesh-and-blood body remained.

She opened her eyes and found Nestor standing over her, gripping the memory-stick while glaring at her. He had pulled it away from her forehead, apparently having talked to either Qiao or Arc about Saga's mental explorations. Based on the look he was giving her, she already knew what he was about to say.

"Tell me you haven't been doing this since last night," he said.

"I have had breaks," she replied, the excuse sounding weak even to her.

"Did you even sleep?"

She meant to give him a forceful all-business look, but it came off as tired. The answer was obvious, and she didn't bother defending it.

"I can go without sleep for three nights straight," she stated.

"Am I supposed to be impressed?" he replied. "We need you in top shape, not sleep-deprived."

"I feel the future pushing down on us, Nestor," she explained, thinking this a better excuse. "I am beginning to see the patterns in the Alchemist's thinking. I am learning so much…"

"This is not proper Boots-Off Day behavior," interrupted Nestor. "You're coming with me."

"Nestor…"

"Don't you Nestor me." Despite his insistence, he was gentle as he took her arm and pulled her to her feet. "You don't get to be the spoil-sport here. Arc reserved that honor a long time ago."

"We have so much to uncover, Nestor," she said, trying to muster up more resistance to Nestor's guiding hands. But she had forsaken much sleep, and her journeys through the memory-sticks were as exhausting as a ten-mile jog through the woods.

"We will," he reassured, leading her toward the side of Arc's cabin. "But _after_ you take a break."

The spot Nestor had chosen for their break was off from the rest of the group, who were still happily lounging around the grassy clearing. Not that their spot was vacant, as Arc had found a place to spread himself out close by, still favoring his right side as he dozed. Next to the cabin wall was a pair of bedrolls, Nestor's and Saga's, rolled up and positioned for use as pillows. It was as out of the way as you could get on the premises, unless you wanted to bunk with the rats inside the cabin.

Saga noticed that Proto was the only other member of their team not relaxing. Proto didn't know how to, something the two of them had in common. The machine was busy skittering to and from the cabin, its legs making little noise as it shuttled supplies from the parked Hunter platform to the cabin, organizing them based on his own inner metric on efficiency. It was taking its time of it, obeying Nestor's order to keep activity as quiet as possible.

Nestor had Saga take a seat, then helped her take off her boots. He sat down next to her and took off his own. He was adamant about this Boots-Off silliness, but she found that she wasn't displeased to do it. Her feet could use a break, as could her mind. Still, she couldn't let Nestor get his way so easily. She was Gunnarr, after all, and she had a persona to uphold.

"So we just… sit here and do nothing?" she said, reclining until her head was on her bedroll.

"There are advantages to doing nothing," said Nestor. "Gives you a chance to think, take stock of your life." He pulled a book from under his bedroll before resting upon it. "But if you desperately need stimulation, I still have my copy of _Burp, The Dragon Rider._"

"I will wait for the opera to come out," she said.

"Suit yourself." He thumbed open the book to his bookmark and settled back for a read.

Saga glared at him incredulously. "This was your plan? Sit me down and expect me to relax while you read bad fiction?"

"It's not _that_ bad. And I figured you'd be falling asleep."

"I am not that tired," she said.

"Well, give it a minute," he said, putting his book up to his eyes. "Once you let yourself relax…"

"Why would I want to relax?" she said, her tone more wistful than stubborn.

Nestor lowered his book again. "It's said to make people happy, or so I've heard."

"Right, happiness," Saga said unenthusiastically. She stopped looking at Nestor and put her eyes on Hiccup and Astrid, lying together on the grass as if modeling for a painter's rendition of Happy Couple In Still Life.

"I am not sure I am capable of it," she admitted.

"Why would you say that?" said Nestor.

"Because I am a Seer who opposed her people," she said. "There is no peace for someone like me."

"Saga, you've had a rough few months. That doesn't mean it will always be this way." He sat up to give her his full attention, though her eyes were still on Hiccup and Astrid, as if her real thoughts had nothing to do with Seer business.

"Will it not? What part of my history makes you think otherwise? The people in my life tend to perish. My father, my brother… even Sister."

Nestor glanced Astrid's way. Near as he could tell, she was still alive. "She's fine."

"She should be dead, Nestor," said Saga. "If not for the Alchemist, our enemy, she'd have perished in the Repository. The odds of her survival had been too small for me to see any possibility for her."

"But she made it, Saga. Even if we owe her life to the Alchemist, that has to count for something."

She finally took her eyes off Hiccup and Astrid, turning back to look Nestor straight on. "How did Hiccup react after the Repository? How did he react to Sister's fate?"

Nestor hesitated. He could see where this was going. "He… was devastated."

She nodded solemnly. "As I expected he would be. That is where happiness leads, Nestor. It is one step away from tragedy."

The Nestor from two weeks ago might have let Saga be, allowing her to handle her pain her own stolid way. But he'd been Hiccup's confidant and support system for those long two weeks, and if he'd learned anything from the experience, it was that letting people be is sometimes just another way of letting them flounder in their misery. Not to mention that Astrid's advice from yesterday had bolstered his courage. No matter the reasoning, he wasn't going to leave things like this.

He reached out and took Saga's hands in his, and to her credit she didn't pull away. In her own way, she had hoped he'd do what he just did.

"I told you once that finding something else to fight for was how I coped with losing everything in my life. I made it sound like a vow was what did it for me. But that wasn't the whole truth. I didn't keep fighting for some elusive ideal like hope. I kept fighting… because there was a cranky dragon who would've missed me if I was gone. I felt like someone cared for once. I've never regretted knowing Arc, even though my life's technically been rougher since Arc gave me his barrier field. And ever since I met Hiccup, I've had _the_ most exciting and terrible moments of my life. Don't regret him, either. It's the good moments that give us the strength to keep going. It's family that gets us to take on impossible odds all the time. Maybe it does end in tears, especially for people like us. We live dangerous lives, no doubt about it. But… Saga, if you fell in battle tomorrow or the next day, or the day after that… I think I'd feel the same as Hiccup did over Astrid. For me, the misery is locked in. The happy parts… those are optional."

There had been a time when Nestor thought the only way he'd spill his guts to Saga was if she got careless with one of her daggers. He figured all his pent-up feelings were better off staying pent-up. She lived the stoic life, and it was hard to fathom Saga ever deciding to do otherwise. As he waited for her response, Saga looking at him with a calm thoughtfulness, he grew increasingly worried that his initial assessment had been right this whole time.

Then she sat up, moved a hand to Nestor's cheek, and gave him one of the warmest smiles he'd ever seen on her face.

"You have a talent for saying exactly what needs to be said," she remarked, right before leaning in and kissing him right on the lips.

Nestor was so blown over by his unexpected success that he almost forgot to kiss back. Then he got over it and relaxed, the two of them taking it slow considering their lack of experience in these matters. Though after a minute of pleasant effort, they had it pretty well down pat.

When they parted at last, Nestor thought he could hear the cheering voices in his head congratulating him out loud. Then he realized that it was actually his friends, who had watched the two of them finally kiss.

"Told you!" shouted Astrid, as she and Hiccup cheered with approval.

"Arc owes me twenty silver!" yelled Qiao. Her outburst woke up Tuffnut, who looked about the group, confused as to what the commotion was about. His sister was the only one of the gang not thrilled with the moment, but at least she kept her mouth shut.

"And it looks like I owe Qiao money," commented Arc, the dragon feigning sleep as he muttered. When Nestor looked his way, the dragon opened one eye and smiled. "But for once, I am glad to be wrong."

"You bet _against_ me, Old Man?" said Nestor.

"Against Saga," Arc corrected. "Cranky dragons do that."

Nestor feared all this attention would make Saga slip back to her old demeanor. But when he turned back to her, she gave him a sly smile. "Next time, no audience," she commented.

"Agreed," he replied.

* * *

Boots-Off Day officially came to an end an hour before sundown, as chores and other duties could only be put off for so long, but it certainly did the trick. Vigor and zeal had returned to the group dynamic, two qualities that had been severely depleted by the events of the last few weeks. Proto mentioned the increased frequency in human laughter from twenty-four hours prior, though the machine had to be convinced that this was a step forward in progress.

One of the duties in question revolved around Hiccup's blacksmith talents, and he was back to work with his tools and apron and handy blacksmith-helper, a.k.a. Toothless and his plasma breath. Hiccup had strung up a simple net holding a few pieces of myssteel over a blackened stone basin, most of them recovered from yesterday's battle or from Hiccup's now-depleted stockpile of magic metal. One of the pieces was a fully intact two-handed sword donated by Saga, and it was the one thing Hiccup felt uneasy about melting down.

"You sure Saga's okay with this?" he asked Nestor, who, along with Arc and Proto, was standing around and acting like an audience. The actual reason for them being present had nothing to do with blacksmithing.

"She said so," said Nestor, though he didn't seem all that certain himself. "When it comes to her brother, she's not the sentimental type."

"I doubt I can make a better sword," said Hiccup. "Somebody knew what they were doing when they made this."

"You will do fine," said Arc. Surprisingly comforting words, up until he added: "Just bear in mind that the lives of many may depend on your skill."

Hiccup glared at Arc in response. "Thanks for summing that up."

Hiccup signaled Toothless to fire up his biological furnace, and Toothless obliged. A jet of super-hot flame leapt out from the dragon's mouth, flowing over the netting and the metal within, quickly warping and distorting the myssteel sword, the fine craftsmanship going up in smoke as it bent and sagged in several places. The softer parts began to slither, slip, and melt through the rapidly disintegrating net. It was sloppy work, but it was the only way to melt myssteel with dragon fire without destroying your equipment in the process.

As Hiccup and Toothless went to work, Arc turned to Nestor and said, "Could you send your metal assistant elsewhere? Our discussion should remain private for now."

Nestor scowled at the request. "We can trust Proto to keep silent."

"Please do as I ask," insisted Arc.

Nestor thought about arguing over Proto's exclusion, but since most of the others weren't being included in the discussion either, he didn't really have a reason to argue. Nestor turned to Proto and told him to go on patrol around the clearing for the next hour.

_This unit was anticipating much observation of Human Hiccup's creation skills, _said Proto. _Is this unit's presence now unacceptable?_

"Not at all, Proto," said Nestor, feeling like he was making excuses for Arc's insensitive words, even though Proto technically couldn't get insulted. "I just need you on guard duty. One hour, then come back to me."

Proto said nothing more as he set off to walk the perimeter of the clearing, going about it in his usual mechanical manner. Even though Proto made no fuss of it, Nestor felt like he'd just kicked his cat out of the house.

"I'm glad _somebody_ appreciates my unexciting talents," commented Hiccup, motioning at Toothless to cease the melting. The dragon did so, having reduced the once-glorious sword to a nondescript blob in the stone basin.

"I'm glad Proto has no feelings," commented Nestor, "or we'd have an offended machine on our hands." He gave Arc a stern look. "You really don't trust Proto, do you?"

"I have been dealing with Guardians for a long time, my boy," replied Arc. "They are imperfect machines designed to win an ancient war. That makes them dangerous at all times."

"But Proto's not designed for combat," said Nestor. "He's… different."

Arc narrowed his eyes. "He seemed to do just fine when you attacked the Alchemist's airship."

"I had to talk him into that, and he was _helping_ the enemy soldiers half the time."

Arc shook his head, unconvinced. "It is not healthy to rely on one such as Proto, Nestor. No matter how intelligent it may seem, Guardians cannot understand life like we do."

"He understands more than you think, Old Man," defended Nestor. "And Proto's a _he_. You can be polite to him, at the very least."

Arc smirked. "Should I be polite to Hiccup's anvil as well?"

"Leave my anvil out of this," said Hiccup, prepping one of the molds he needed for Arc's special project. "And can we get on with the private matter you wanted to discuss, Arc?"

Arc was happy to drop the subject of Proto, as was Nestor. They turned away from each other and toward Hiccup.

"Very well," said Arc. "Tell me, Hiccup, are you familiar with the concept of a Hyperion Gathering?"

"I think Nestor mentioned it once," said Hiccup. "That's when all the Hyperions get together for drinks and feats of strength, right?"

"Minus the drinks, that is correct," said Arc. "When my brethren finally arrive, we will commence a Gathering on the current crisis, that of the Alchemist."

"Should be an easy decision," said Nestor confidently. "Should be a downright no-brainer."

The cautious glint in Arc's eye made Nestor's confidence fly away like a flock of frightened bats. "Wait, you're suggesting that they _won't_ help us out here?"

"It is a strong possibility," said Arc solemnly.

Hiccup had shared Nestor's confidence up until then, and he was so dumbfounded by Arc's revelation that he stumbled into the workbench and almost toppled the mold with the molten myssteel. Toothless, ever the attentive dragon, caught the mold before it tipped over and spilled its contents into the dirt.

"What is this?" said Hiccup, his tone rising. "All this talk about Hyperions being great and powerful… and they may not help us?"

Arc adopted a patient look. "Do you recall all the times that dragons came to assist humans during open warfare? All the tales of dragons taking sides during brutal campaigns and conquests between human nations?"

Nestor's disbelief quickly morphed into dejectedness as the revelation hit. "Ah, yeah. Hyperions don't get involved with human affairs, do they?"

Hiccup was beginning to think the same way, but he wasn't quite as accepting of it. "But you help us all the time. Lothar and Adon have helped us."

"Individual dragons helping individual humans who are already aware of our existence," said Arc. "To date, we have never taken sides in any human war, or steered the course of any human government. One of our vows involves waiting for the human race to regain its former glory, and as such we are not allowed to interfere in your development. There are those who think the power I granted Nestor amounts to too much interference as is."

"What about Cervantes?" asked Hiccup. "What about when you defended Berk against the Monolith?"

"That all stemmed from the original sin of Cervantes betraying Latimar. I was correcting a centuries-old mistake. In contrast, if it had been only the Gunnarr that threatened your people, I could not have assisted."

"But the Alchemist isn't a leader of a nation," said Nestor. "She's a free agent. She's worse than Cervantes. _Salo krebit_, Arc, she's an Artisan! You know, the Ancestors' ancient enemy and all that!"

"She's still human," replied Arc. "Her power is all her own doing. She's advanced for a human, and she threatens to destabilize the entire world, but no more than the Romans or the Huns did in their time."

"So… we're on our own?" said Nestor, hardly able to say the words.

"Of course not," said Arc, looking at Nestor with his trademark don't-say-stupid-things glare. "Do you honestly think I would abandon you in your time of need?"

With that statement, Nestor felt much relief, as did Hiccup. "I have to admit," said Nestor, "that for a moment there, I wasn't sure."

Arc's expression softened, and he gave his young protégée a firm smile. "Not in a thousand years would I do that, my boy. Even if my brethren said otherwise, I would never leave you. I'm telling you two this because I will need your help at the Gathering. I have seen the Alchemist's power first hand, and we will need my brethren to take her on. This is not a fight we can stay out of, but it will not be easy to convince them. I think I will need to… cheat."

"Cheat?" asked Hiccup. "How do you cheat at a Gathering?"

"I will explain when the time comes," said Arc. "For now… oh, hello, Young Saga."

Nestor and Hiccup jumped once they both realized that Saga was standing in their midst. She stood off to Arc's side, having easily snuck in while their attention was diverted. It was impossible to know how long she'd been standing there.

"I thought I was used to that by now," said Nestor as his nerves returned to normal. Then he noticed Saga's face. She looked visibly shaken, like she had just had the scare of a lifetime. She held a memory-stick in her hand, gripping it so tightly that Thor himself couldn't have wrenched it out of her fingers.

"What's wrong?" Nestor asked, coming to her and aiming to a put hand on her shoulder. But she put a hand out to stop him, shaking her head to deny the assistance.

"I will be alright," she said. "I continued my explorations of the Alchemist's thoughts. The last thoughts were ones I witnessed… I could see them as well as hear them."

Arc looked at the stick in her hand and frowned. "That is not one of the memory-sticks Qiao took from the Alchemist."

"No," said Saga. "It was from my brother. I think it was the one the Alchemist considered the most important. It is different than the others, more advanced… and more personal." She gave each of her comrades a look of complete seriousness, so that there was no mistaking the enormity of her next statement.

"I know her plans now. I know her intentions. And if we do not act in the next four days, Riki Poka – and everyone in it – will die."


	18. The Gathering

**Author's Notes:** So I was watching the _Dragons_ episode "The Iron Gronkle" and it was interesting because the plot involved Fishlegs and Meatlog inadvertently creating a new type of steel (dubbed Gronkle Iron) that was almost silvery in color (though I'm not the best judge of colors), was apparently very lightweight and semi-indestructible and **OH MY GOD MYSSTEEL!**

Okay, I'll admit that the idea of a super-metal is nothing new, not in fantasy or sci-fi. But outside of the metal not being of a magical nature, Gronkle Iron bares many similarities to myssteel, enough that I do have to wonder if someone at DreamWorks has read my work. It also might just be a coincidence. Still, for the record, I DID IT FIRST!

Onwards.

**Chapter Seventeen: The Gathering**

A scant hour after sunset, not long after Saga had finished delivering her dire news to Hiccup, Nestor, and Arc, two great shapes glided into the airspace above the cabin, circling until they found a place to land in the clearing, their presence signaling that the overdue Hyperions had finally found the cabin. Those that knew of Lothar and Kestrel reassured the others that these dragons were on their side, though exactly how much on their side remained to be seen.

Lothar was the first to land, the Skrill eagerly greeting those that he knew and did not know with equal warmness. Adon had once more caught a ride on his back, hopping off without fanfare and sticking to the background, acting like he'd rather be anywhere else than mingling with a gaggle of humans.

Kestrel's landing took a bit more effort, what with his massive wingspan. His landing approach reduced the height of a half-dozen local trees by several feet, but he spared most of the surrounding forest from a crude trimming. He wasn't much friendlier than Adon, though his size made escaping into the background a trifle difficult. He was willing to share a little bit of himself, namely that he was a resident of the Black Forest and that he had a few centuries under his belt and could look forward to a few more before his time was over. He talked in a very business-like manner, neither curt not enthusiastic, and though he had a better bedside manner than Adon, he shared Adon's dispassion towards humans.

They were offered food and rest, but all three Hyperions kindly refused. They were fully rested from their Rejuvenation efforts, and they had eaten along the way. They had been forced to divert their course and seek shelter from a mammoth storm off the coast, delaying them a day's time. But they were here now and ready for the Gathering, and both Adon and Kestrel were rather adamant that they get started sooner than later. Hiccup suggested they use the clearing for the Gathering, but again he was refused. The Gathering was apparently not for human ears. Arc suggested a smaller clearing to the west of the cabin, and this was deemed acceptable.

Questions came up as to what this Gathering was about. Arc answered for the Hyperion, and the answer was always, "Hiccup and Nestor will fill you in." A dismissive reply that rankled most of the group, but at least it promised answers in the future.

With no further ado, the Hyperions took their leave and took to the air, Kestrel in particular buffeting the group with a small windstorm as he launched. Arc was the last to leave, turning to Hiccup and Nestor but not saying a word. Hyperions have good hearing, so any words might have ruined their plans. Instead, he gave them a knowing wink, and then joined his winged comrades in the night sky.

* * *

It took little time for the Hyperions to reach the second clearing, a half-dead section of the forest that looked like it had suffered a wildfire in the past. Burnt logs and scorched vegetation covered the ground, and there was a strong wolf-stink to it, a big turn-off considering wolves and dragons didn't mix. No wolf pack was crazy or rabid enough to take on four dragons at once, but it didn't make the ambiance any more pleasant.

"Nice place you found for us," remarked Adon as he touched down, sniffing the nearest log with disgust. "What, no active volcanoes were available?"

Arc landed near Adon and scanned the area for wolves or other large predators. The clearing seemed clear of threats, not that your average forest animal would prove dangerous to a Hyperion. "You wished for privacy, Adonis. You now have it. This is the best clearing for miles around."

Kestrel broke through several trees on his way down, but unlike Adon he didn't bother to complain about the location. Lothar took a sniff of the air and shrugged, satisfied that they weren't in any danger.

"Four of us have come," said Lothar. "Ve have enough for ze Gazering."

"It would've been better if Yen and Thresher had shown up," said Adon. "I hate making decisions without everyone present."

"Zey are too far avay to reach easily," said Lothar. "If ve are to intervene, ze decision must be soon."

"You sound like you've already decided," said Kestrel. "The whole point of this Gathering is to understand the situation and _then_ decide action."

"Aren't we forgetting something?" said Adon. "We need to make this official."

"Indeed," said Arc. "Let us bow our heads."

The dragons did, closing their eyes in reverence to the ancient order they had vowed to maintain through the millennia. Arc began the recitation of their declarations, the vows each of them took as they gained the essence of the Hyperion. They all knew them by heart, and the other Hyperion joined in immediately:

_We are the One made Many, bound to each other for all time. _

_We are the last vestige of the Ancestors, carrying on their memories and their name._

_We are the Chosen, and the ones who Choose._

_We stand against the mistakes of the past, so that they don't harm the future._

_We stand between the world we care about and the ones that wish to destroy it._

_We stand for the one thing worth standing for… hope._

Once they were finished, Arc declared the Gathering initiated, and he adopted his most serious of expressions as he addressed his fellow Hyperion.

"I did not call this Gathering, for I believe that honor goes to Adon. Therefore, he should be the one to state the issue at hand."

Adon had found a scorched tree stump to occupy, granting him some height but not much stature. At least the other Hyperions wouldn't be literally talking down to him the whole time. He squared himself and managed to look fairly regal despite the shabby stage he stood upon.

"When Arc came to me to ask for the location of the Repository, I feared something big was coming to pass. I knew little of the Repository's contents, but a hiding spot under the sea isn't the place for powdered wigs and bug collections. To be honest… I was afraid that Arc had gone too far."

Adon gave Arc his full attention, looking very much like an accuser staring down a defendant charged with treason. "I don't say such things lightly, Archibald. Your actions as of late have given us all concern. Your vendetta against Cervantes, your adoption of a young human, your sacrifice of sacred power to protect your human, and this constant cavorting with humans in general – you've been dancing on the line we have vowed to never cross. If not for the debt I owed you, I would never had given you the location of the Repository."

Adon shifted his gaze back to the other Hyperion, his accusing stare mellowing in the process. "I have subsequently changed my tune. While I still believe that Archibald is straining the limits of discretion, he has uncovered a danger. My conversations with Lothar and some of the humans Arc travels with has proven my fears true. I call this meeting because there is a change in the world dynamic, and we must decide what to do with it."

"And so the truth comes out," said Arc, who had taken Adon's harsh words with stoic detachment. "Tell me, Adon, if you hadn't learned of the Alchemist's power, would this Gathering have become a Trial?"

"You would've left me no choice," replied Adon. "You threaten us all by revealing our existence to the humans."

"Zis is not ze time for personal squabbles," said Lothar. "Ze Alchemist's forces now occupy a major human city. She has made her first move. If ve are to act, it must be soon."

"But it is still only a human city," said Kestrel. "Is there proof that her actions threaten the world itself?"

"She has the power to summon an inter-dimensional force," said Arc. "One that has destroyed at least one other world in the cosmos."

"Do we know if she will use it?" said Kestrel.

"She has before," said Arc.

"But she only threatens other humans," said Adon. "From everything I've heard, the Alchemist is yet another conqueror, which is nothing new in human history. If her intentions are to destroy, enslave, or control other humans… then I don't see why we should interfere."

"You don't see?" said Lothar. "Her technology is centuries ahead of any ozer human civilization."

"And?" replied Adon. "The Romans were leagues above the barbarians around them. Yet we stood by and watched them take over Europe."

"Adon, I fear, is correct," said Arc, a phrase that hurt Arc to say. Even Adon was caught off-guard by the admission.

"The Alchemist's plans are centered on the human race," he continued. "She is aware of us, but I doubt she will target us unless we stand in her way. If we do nothing, it is quite possible that the world will survive as it always has, with only the humans finding their world changed forever."

The other Hyperion were shocked to hear such things coming from Arc. Of all the dragons gathered, Arc would surely have been the biggest advocate for intervention. He was practically dooming any possibility of action with his words. But then Arc's face hardened, a fierce glare of determination signaling that Arc was unsheathing his tongue for a true verbal battle.

"Which is why I am going to tell you _exactly_ what she plans to do with the human race," he said, "and why we _must_ intervene at all cost."

* * *

Campfires were normally comforting things to those humans who made their way through the uncivilized wilds. Fire was warmth and security, keeping at bay the nocturnal threats that might find a sleeping human intriguing enough to take a bite out of.

Tonight, the sparking, cracking campfire was holding off something far less tangible, but no less dangerous. It was a sneaky predator called despair, and it could fell the mightiest of warriors without spilling a single drop of blood.

The Champions were arranged around the designated fire pit, the humans sitting on logs while the non-humans sat on the ground, listening to the storyteller tell a different kind of scary story. Everyone was gathered. Everyone needed to hear this.

"I remember the Alchemist's words like they are my own thoughts," said Saga, playing the role of storyteller this evening. "I do not know why I remember them so well. Perhaps my mind treats them as a vision of sorts. But I see them in my mind as if I am reading a book."

She closed her eyes and began reciting the imaginary page etched into her mind.

"Most people consider the human race an imperfect species, but it is worse that that. Humanity is not just imperfect – it is fatally flawed. We seek answers for life's questions, but fear the answers. We are afraid of being alone while being afraid of others. We dismiss evidence and facts that undermine our beliefs, while embracing irrational notions that have no true validity. And worse of all, we are too simple to live intelligently… and too intelligent to live simply. We embody a collection of paradoxes and conundrums that would render any other species on the planet dysfunctional to the point of extinction, and yet we somehow keep surviving.

"I saw the destruction of my people at our own hands. The best civilization this world has ever seen, reduced to dust in a matter of minutes. And to think that I have been waiting all this time for another civilization to climb back to that level. To what end? To see it burn once more? It is inevitable that one day we will regain what we lost, or else forge a path that embraces a different side of technology that is no less powerful. But this will not be to our benefit. The human race will continue to push itself forward… and then it will push itself over a cliff.

"I have been asleep for twenty-thousands years, dreaming of a dream that can never be. It took Qiao's departure to wake me up. Qiao has wandered off into a world that will eventually destroy her. I had but one goal in life – to find a place where the two of us could find peace, where our knowledge and nature would prove a blessing rather than a curse. Such a place does not exist, and will never exist. Yet… yet I can still protect her. I can still be the parent she needs me to be, the one willing to move Heaven and Earth to see her survive. And in the process, I will make this world better. I will save the planet from us, and us from ourselves. There can be no Golden Age of Humanity, because our very nature will not allow it. I cannot appeal to the better side of the human race, for in the long run, the better side always loses. But I can appeal to our darker side, our fear of the unknown, our fear of powers greater than ourselves, and our constant fear of death. I can make it so that humanity will never desire to push forward ever again, never yearn for greater knowledge, never ask questions best left unanswered. I will give them a choice: live simply, or perish. Live simply, or go extinct. And they will choose to live simply, for like every other species on this planet, the most powerful desire in the mind of every human… is to survive.

"At last, I understand what must be done. To save Qiao, to save the human race, to save the world… I must destroy civilization."

* * *

"The Alchemist sees civilization as the problem," spoke Arc. "She plans on convincing humanity to abandon it, to have them seek out a simple life in villages and tribes, reducing themselves to a primitive state of existence, never questing to know more, learn more… _be _more. Everything she had done since emerging from her refuge on Sanctuary Island has been to that end."

Lothar looked equal parts skeptical and horrified. "Is zat even possible? To end civilization?"

"I don't know," said Arc. "But it's what she believes. Her first goals were to create both an army and a reputation, but it is the reputation she wanted most of all. She knows that fear is a potent weapon, but not just any fear will do. A fear that engages the primal side of us, the one that makes us run from a hurricane or a forest fire. The fear a mouse knows when it encounters a lion. The fear that tells you that to stand your ground is to court certain death.

"She used her vast knowledge to create a weapon for which there is no defense – the Catalyszier. It summons the Scouring, an entity that destroys everything it sees, and she used it to sow even more fear. She demonstrated its power at Outcast Bay, a settlement of criminals outside of Riki Poka, but her intended audience was not the criminals. She wanted the word of what she had accomplished to spread to the people of the city, so that they would begin feeling that primal fear, to begin believing that the Alchemist wasn't someone you could oppose.

"But the Catalyszier had limits. It could open a portal to the Scouring's realm, but not a very big one. She was already building a far-larger Catalyszier, what she calls the Omega Catalyszier, one designed to destroy city-sized targets, but she lacked a key component needed to empower it. That is why she kidnapped her adopted daughter, Qiao, and why she needed to get inside the Repository. The Alchemist had buried much of her past in that forgotten chamber, including the alien mineral she needed. And Qiao was one-half of the key to the door, while the Alchemist was the other half.

"Despite the efforts of me, my allies, and even Cervantes, the Alchemist survived the Repository and now has everything she needs to begin her campaign against human civilization. She has already led her fleet to Riki Poka, and she is in control of the city. My young protégée and his Guardian have cracked the Alchemist's communication system, and they currently have the Alchemist fooled about the fate of the _Cauldron_. More so, they have learned that the Alchemist has moved the Omega Catalyszier to the city limits, and that she claims to be selling it to the highest bidder, available to any heads-of-state that come to the meeting she will hold four days from now. After that, she claims she will leave the city in peace."

"But that's not what she has planned, is it?" said Adon.

Arc solemnly shook his head. "There will be no meeting. Instead, it will be a performance, and the visiting heads-of state will be the audience. This time, the target will be the city itself. The city will become an example, and the horrific tale of an entire city vaporizing will be spread to dozens of other cities and ports. She will not sell the Omega Catalyszier. Instead, she will tell the survivors that if they wish to live, they will leave their cities, abandon their homes, and find a simpler way to exist. Because she will be coming for every bastion of civilization, every kingdom and empire, and she will Scour everything before her."

"Not all of zis makes sense," said Lothar. "She could easily draw in ze leaders of ozer kingdoms vizout all zis grandiose fuss. Vhy vould ze Alchemist invade Riki Poka vith her armada if she intends to destroy it?"

"It's due to the Omega Catalyszier," replied Arc. "It requires time to charge up enough mystical energy to summon the Scouring. The Alchemist depleted its power when she moved it to the city limits, so now it needs time to recharge. That's why she is conducting this ruse, and why her armada patrols the city. I suppose we could call it a weak spot in her strategy, but her armada is more than capable of fending off any conventional attacks until the Omega Catalyszier is ready."

"Her plan is impossible," said Kestrel. "Even if she truly possesses the power to back up her claims, the humans will not listen to her. She would be fought every step of the way."

"She's already factored that into her plans," explained Arc. "She expects to obliterate many cites, extinguishing multitudes of lives, before the rest of humanity takes the hint. Eventually, the cities will empty as soon as they know she's coming. The survivors will start creating cultures and religions designed to prevent their people from seeking knowledge that might evoke the Alchemist's wrath. In time, she may even be perceived not as a woman, but as a spiteful god, punishing the human race every time it dares strive for more. She could keep this up a very long time. Remember, she is Artisan, and she may have the means of prolonging her life for a few more centuries. She may even train a successor, someone to keep the now-primitive tribes of humanity cowed, once she is too old to continue her campaign."

"How do you know all this?" said Adon.

"The Seer learned how to use the Alchemist's memory-sticks, and she found one stick in particular that contained the Alchemist's most personal thoughts. Thanks to her, we now understand the Alchemist's true goals."

The other Hyperions were silent for a time, thinking on the weighty matter before them. Arc patiently waited for them to digest the information, knowing that while his exposition would have easily spurred a gathering of human leaders to action, he had not yet done enough to sway his brethren.

"Even if we decided to take on the Alchemist,' said Adon, "even if we broke our vows and took sides, how could we win against her? Even all of us together couldn't take on her entire fleet."

Arc was pleased by the question. Adon had insinuated that intervention was possible should hope for a victory arise. Thankfully, Saga had given him more than bad news.

"The Alchemist is many things," said Arc, "but perfect isn't one of them."

* * *

"It all comes down to the Catalysziers," said Saga. "They are her ultimate weapon, and her ultimate weakness."

"Well, that's kind of obvious," said Heather. "If we destroy those weapons, the Alchemist can't obliterate any cities."

"It is far more than that," said Saga. "It is the secret she hid from everyone, even her most trusted lieutenants. The Catalysziers are so named because they funnel energy from the Fold, the mystical fabric that binds reality together, and channels it into the Alchemist's devices, her stones and gems and other artifacts. They are the reason she has as much power as she does. They are the beating hearts of her army."

Qiao had been quiet for much of Saga's storytelling, trying hard not to feel guilty for inspiring Alche to destroy all of civilization. Hearing that Alche had a weak spot perked her up, and the gears in her head were churning out epiphany after epiphany.

"That's why I've never seen anything like this before," she said. "She built the Catalyszier after I left. And that must be why all her ships can suddenly fly. She needed the big alien-starfish tower operational so she could power up her armada. Fates preserve me, if I'd known what she needed the zanick stone for, I'd have smashed it myself."

"You didn't know what she was going to do," comforted Astrid. "This isn't your fault, Qiao."

"Alche is going to Scour all of civilization because of me," said Qiao sourly. "I think it's safe to say I'm involved."

"Blame is useless right now," said Linebreaker. "Saga, is there a means to destroy the Catalysziers?"

"They are made of crystal, and therefore they can be broken," said Saga. "But I fear that the Omega Catalyszier will take a bigger hammer than any of us can carry."

"But it's something, isn't it?" said Astrid. "If we can find the right hammer, we can stop the Alchemist."

"Okay, I'm a little lost," said Ruffnut. "We were talking about giant crystal towers and now we're talking about hammers."

_Destruction of Omega Catalyszier will result in neutralization of the Alchemist's power flow, causing all devices in her army to deactivate, _explained Proto.

"Uh… that didn't help," said Ruffnut.

"We destroy the big tower, her ships fall from the sky," said Tuffnut. He then looked absolutely amazed at the words he'd spoken. "Thor's Hammer, did I actually understand all that?"

"I don't desire to be a killjoy," said Linebreaker, "but the armada that we wish to cripple with the destruction of the crystal tower… is the very armada that will be guarding it."

"We took out one ship already," said Tuffnut. "How hard can the rest be?"

"How hard?" said Saga. "You took out one warship with most of its crew on the ground, its defenses unprepared for aerial attackers, and with surprise on your side. We face _seven _warships, hundreds of troops, and an undetermined number of Hunters and Berserkers. Not to mention the Alchemist, Dark Star, her lieutenants, and quite possibly Cervantes."

"I'd say that's hard," said Tuffnut, his previously puffed-up ego rapidly deflating.

"That's why we need the Hyperions on our side," said Astrid. "That's what their Gathering is all about."

"But they have to help us," said Heather. "Don't they? Aren't they the good guys?"

"It is complicated," said Saga. "They have rules that may prevent them from coming to our aid. However, Arc has a plan to change that, a plan which involves two of our number."

"Ooohh," said Qiao, glancing around the group and realizing the obvious. "I was wondering why Hiccup and Nestor hadn't said anything this whole time."

* * *

"You have spelled out the situation most eloquently, Arc," commented Adon, the first to speak after Arc finished educating the gathered Hyperion on the Alchemist's supposed weak spot. "But you forget a rather big detail – the part that compels us to go to war against the Alchemist."

"I must agree," said Kestrel, the big dragon shifting the weight on his wings to get more comfortable and accidentally sawing a stump in half with a careless move. "If the Alchemist aims to send humanity back to the times of sticks and stones, why would we stop her?"

"Vhy?" said Lothar, scowling at the big dragon. "How about ze deaths of millions of innocents?"

"Death is a constant companion to the humans," shot back Adon. "They flirt with it every time they march to war. We have stood by every time, because it's not our place to get in the way of their self-destructive tendencies."

"You speak the truth, Adonis," agreed Arc. "And we have held that philosophy for twenty-thousand years."

Adon's glare intensified. He clearly thought Arc was yanking him around, what with this constant agreement. "And yet you want us to throw up our claws and say, 'Eh, let's go ahead and save the humans from themselves, just for kicks.' Does that about cover your line of thinking?"

Arc gave back Adon's glare three-fold, and it made the little Hyperion take a step back. Arc wasn't yanking anything. He was deadly serious.

"My line of thinking, Adonis… is that for twenty-thousand years, we have been _wrong._"

Arc's statement shocked the Gathering into an uneasy silence. Even Lothar, who'd been on Arc's side of the debate, was giving Arc a bewildered look. To a Hyperion, declaring a sacred vow wrong was like claiming that a cow was brilliant at public speaking. It was a downright _insane_ thing to say.

"Do you now think me addled in the head?" said Arc, smirking slightly at his baffled brethren. "I wouldn't blame you if you did. Our vows are immutable, are they not? Generations of us have held them unwaveringly. They transcend discussion and doubt. We accept them because it is a condition of our transformation from a simple animal to something more. We stay true to the Hyperion way because it has allowed us to survive the long passage of time. It has served us well… and that is the problem.

"The Ancestors did not forge the Essence for our sakes. They did it for the _world_. We were to keep their vast knowledge safe until the world was ready for it. But in twenty-thousand years, we have never deemed any part of humanity ready for it. Not once. We have protected the knowledge, safeguarded it from the degradation of time… but what good is knowledge if others do not use it? We have been selfish, because we have not made the world a better place. Instead, we wait for others to do the work for us. We have watched untold suffering occur all through history, all because we have convinced ourselves that it was for the greater good. We vow to stand against the mistakes of the past… so when do we stand against our own mistakes?"

"You can't be serious," said Adon, who was now looking at Arc like he was sizing him up for a dragon-sized straightjacket. "Hyperions sharing knowledge with the humans? They would destroy _everything!_"

"Only if we _gave_ them everything," said Arc. "I am not suggesting we hand them the keys to the kingdom and let them run crazy. Instead, we start by believing that they are worth the effort. We start by helping them in their darkest hour and not turning our backs on them. We start by coming out of the shadows and showing them who we are."

Adon was too flummoxed to speak further. Kestrel wasn't, however.

"What if the Alchemist is right?" said Kestrel. "What if they are doomed to failure? What if they all end up like the Artisans? Perhaps she is doing us all a favor."

Arc grumbled ruefully before he spoke. "I hear myself in your words, Kestrel. I have seen the faults of humanity displayed far and wide. On the whole, they are a selfish lot, cursed with too many individuals who are myopic, self-centered, ego-driven, and terrified of any kind of change. They are too easily convinced to follow the wrong paths. They judge others far more harshly than they judge themselves. And for such an intelligent breed, they can be breathtakingly stupid."

Then Arc made everyone even more nervous by smirking mischievously. "So let's meet a couple of them. Nestor, Young Hiccup, you can come out now."

From behind a set of bushes just outside the clearing, Hiccup and Nestor stepped from their hiding spots. Toothless was also present, escorting Hiccup and giving the other dragons the do-not-mess-with-my-rider look. They walked up to the Gathering and stood near Arc, who was enjoying the newest round of shocked expressions from his brethren.

"You brought humans to a Gathering?" said Adon. "Have you gone mad?"

"Stow it, Adonis," shot back Arc. "You know these two quite well. And since what we decide here may very well save or doom a great many lives, I want you to get a good look at the ones your decision will affect."

"Vell met, Hiccup and Nestor," said Lothar, already over the shock and now seemingly pleased by their appearance. Adon and Kestrel said nothing, though their glares spoke volumes.

Hiccup cleared his throat and took a step forward toward the group. "Can I speak, or do I have to wait my turn?"

"Ve are informal," said Lothar. "Speak your mind."

"Well, I wanted to say that I have a great deal of respect for you guys. It can't be easy living for so long and knowing what you know about the past and not being able to brag about it at parties. And I'm sure your rules about not getting involved in human affairs were made with the best of intentions… but we could really use your help here."

Adon glared at Arc for a moment, but then softened his look when he turned to Hiccup. "Kid, it just isn't our place to get involved."

"I get why you think that," said Hiccup. "I know you think humans are disasters waiting to happen. But you know my story, right? And it's not even really my story. It's the story of my village. We were as driven to fight dragons as the Alchemist is to send the human race back to the Stone Age. But we went from killing dragons to riding them, practically overnight. It hasn't been easy, but we did it."

"Correct me if I'm wrong," said Adon, "but didn't it take your people three centuries to come to this conclusion?"

Hiccup grimaced, conceding the point without argument. "Okay, so it wasn't overnight. I don't deny that humans are a pain in the rear. I know Vikings that I wouldn't trust with a feather, much less the knowledge of True Alchemy or myssteel. But I know just as many people who are willing to change and grow and fight for something better. And if the Alchemist gets her way, then all the progress we've made… it'll mean nothing. That's all I wanted to say."

Hiccup stepped back after he was finished, whereupon Nestor then stepped forward to fill in the vacant space. "You know who I am. 'Arc's boy' is my official title, or something like that, and I honestly don't know what you think of me. Am I a curiosity, a mistake, or a moment of weakness by a Hyperion who should know better? I know you don't think of me as one of you, and I won't insult you by suggesting otherwise. I'm just a boy Arc rescued along the way, and I don't pretend to be anything more than that. But the thing is… I believe in what the Hyperions stand for. I believe in those vows you take when you become one, the vows you live by. I believe in hope, and I believe in fighting for those who can't fight, and I believe in stopping the mistakes of the past from destroying the future. And what I'd like to believe the most… is that someday you'll believe in me as much as I believe in you."

There were no comments from Adon or the other Hyperion as Nestor finished his spiel. Arc snuck in a look of pride, the type reserved between fathers and sons, before addressing the group again. There was a new intensity in his eyes, a new determination. For the sake of the people he'd grown to care for, this was not a debate he could lose.

"In the time I have known these two, they have exhibited more courage than all of us Hyperion combined. They lack our advantages and our longevity, yet they press on to do what's right. They are proof that humanity is capable of being so much more than we think they are, than what _they _think they are. And it isn't just these two. There is a whole team of them, a random sample of warriors who, despite their flaws and diverse backgrounds, have come together for the good of all. Regardless of what we decide here, they will face the Alchemist and attempt to stop her… and I cannot think of a greater travesty than to let them face her alone."

Lothar was already well and truly convinced, and Kestrel seemed to be mulling over Arc's words thoughtfully. Adon wasn't ready to concede the debate just yet, but doubt was beginning to take root in his mind.

"Maybe they are the best of humanity," said Adon. "That doesn't mean the rest of them will learn. They will remain the same self-absorbed and short-sighted creatures they've always been."

"Perhaps," said Arc. "Or perhaps they will see the bravery shown by their fellow humans and attempt to emulate it. I've noticed that humans seek out examples of heroism, though at times they search in the wrong places, or even go as far as to fabricate fictional ones. They want to believe in themselves, but they first need proof that it is possible. They need champions to start the process, and it turns out that we have some at our disposal."

"Did he just say we're disposable?" Hiccup muttered to Nestor.

"Just go with it," Nestor muttered back.

"And what if they get the wrong idea?" said Adon, extremely intent on not letting this go. "Instead of Hiccups and Nestors, we might get more like Cervantes."

"That will always be the risk," replied Arc. "Latimar choose poorly, and there was a heavy cost to his folly. So we must choose better." He gave a quick look of affection to Nestor. "I know I have. The question is, what will _you_ choose?"

"I choose to fight ze Alchemist," declared Lothar, barely letting Arc finish before blurting out his feelings. "It is time for ze Hyperion to stand for ze human race."

Kestrel didn't have Lothar's enthusiasm, but after a moment of contemplation he nodded his long-necked head. "I do not have much love of the human race, but I fear that to let them fall back into darkness would ultimately be a disservice to all. If this Gathering makes an unanimous decision, if this is the will of the Hyperion, then I will follow it as well."

It was as good an answer as Arc expected of Kestrel. The old Timberjack disliked confrontation, but he also disliked going against the crowd. That left Adon, the one who considered humans a horde of pests on his best days.

"It is up to you now, Adon," said Arc. "What do you choose?"

Adon's face was so unreadable that it was impossible to know what he might decide. He couldn't be happy about being the heavy in this situation, and it was doubtful that Arc's emotional speech had wiped away his prejudices, ones formed from long centuries of experience and bitterness. The only glimmer of hope Arc could cling to was how the Terror glanced at Nestor, as if he actually cared about what might happen to the boy. Perhaps Nestor had garnered a measure of respect from the little Hyperion during their time spent together. It wouldn't surprise Arc if he did – Nestor had a habit of bringing out the best in anyone.

"I can't say I approve of your dirty tricks, Archibald," said Adon, throwing yet another scowl at Arc, "and I don't have your faith in the human race… but your dirty tricks are effective nonetheless. Ancestors preserve us, but we will stand against the Alchemist. Let us hope she is not the last thing we stand against."

"Ze decision is complete," said Lothar. "Ve now must prepare. I declare ze Gazering over."

As the other Hyperions began to disperse, Hiccup sighed in relief and said, "Wow, Arc, I think you missed your calling. You could've been a lawyer."

"Is that a compliment?" said Arc.

"Take it as one, Old Man," said Nestor. "What now?"

"Now the easy part ends," said Arc. "We have much to do, and little time to do it in."

"So… business as usual," said Hiccup.


	19. When This Is Over

**Chapter Eighteen: When This Is Over**

Everything looks different from the air.

Go up high above the land and look down upon the works of humankind, filled with the teeming masses going about their business, and all you really see is the big picture. The full spread of markets and homes, the constant movements of individuals and crowds, the erratic and orderly patterns of buildings created from both erratic and orderly minds - it could be overwhelming just in the enormity of it all. But then consider that every moving dot was a thinking, feeling person, potentially capable of amazing deductions and thoughtful contemplations, and your poor brain might shut down from the overload.

Add in the realization that, in less than two days' time, you were about to snuff it all out, and you had some idea of where the Alchemist's mind was this morning.

She stood upon the bow of the _Firecracker_ and gazed down upon the wandering citizens, most of them attempting to maintain the status quo despite the ever-present floating warships above them. She had decided to take refuge aboard the _Firecracker_ for now, mostly to calm her stomach after spending so much time riding Dark Star. She really wasn't cut out to be a full-time dragon rider, but her showy acrobatics did much to keep up the morale of her men, as well as reminding the people of the city who was in control.

She would've retreated to the _Zenith_, but, unlike the other ships in her armada, it was parked in the city harbor, forcing the ship traffic to skirt around its mammoth bulk. She didn't need it for keeping civic order, and she didn't want it accidentally exposed to the Scouring should there be a miscalculation in her plans. She needed to stay close to the action, to ensure that both her troops and the city behaved themselves until her "business" was concluded.

She had sent Dark Star off for some free-flying time, which left the Alchemist with no company to speak of. Her men were doing their jobs as instructed, the earlier morale issues that had cropped up in the wake of the debacle at Sanctuary Island effectively remedied. They had taken the city in a matter of minutes; they were part of the world's most powerful navy. They now had utter faith in the Alchemist, for she had delivered what she had promised.

They did not know the fate that would befall Riki Poka. It was better that way. They would see it firsthand, they would be horrified by the experience, and then they would thank their various gods that they had joined up with the Alchemist. Nothing stifled dissention like monumental displays of overkill.

"Alchemist?"

Norom's voice jogged her back to reality, the half-troll walking up to her and then obediently waiting for her to respond. He had cleaned up very well, his hair trimmed, his new uniform freshly pressed, a new barrier-belt adorning his waistline. A model soldier in every respect, and it pleased her that the scars of his captivity had not kept him from returning to her side.

"Report," she said.

"The _Cauldron _reports that they have apprehended Qiao," said Norom. "She is… mostly unharmed."

She turned to Norom, her eyes narrowing at the news. "Mostly?"

"Scrapes and bruises, nothing more. However, the ship captain reports that Qiao used her bow against the ship, and that navigation is impaired as a result. They need a few more hours to repair."

"They have six hours, then they'd best get moving," she replied. "I want the ship here before sundown tomorrow. In the aftermath of the Scouring, we will need every soldier available to control the survivors."

Norom nodded grimly. He and Kong were the only two people she trusted to keep her true plans secret. There was a third individual who knew her plans, but he was hardly trustworthy. Still, Cervantes wouldn't jeopardize her plans, and his future, with careless talk. Speaking of which…

"What of Cervantes?" she asked.

"He seems to have found a hiding place," said Norom, frowning at the mention of their hated partner. "He is not on any ship, nor has he been reported leaving the city limits."

"Sounds like he's sulking," said the Alchemist. "Hopefully he stays that way. Other issues?"

"None to speak of," said Norom. "The Lords are confident that you mean what you say."

"Of course they are. Why would they expect me to obliterate their cherished city? It makes no financial sense, and money is the language in which these people think."

She turned her gaze toward the teeming city, still finding a measure of marvel at how such a large population could live so peacefully together. Humans truly were wondrously adaptable creatures, and despite all her disdain toward the undeniable failings of humanity, there were still traits to admire. It was a shame that those admirable traits were easily swamped by the negative ones.

"How did I get here, Norom?" she asked.

"I don't follow."

"I wasn't supposed to be a leader of armies, or a destroyer of cities," she continued. "I was a scientist. A good one, perhaps the best in my field, but certainly not worthy to earn this role that I now occupy. I merely survived what wiped out my people. And yet here I am, thousands of years later, ready to do to the rest of humanity what my people did to themselves."

"Are you doubting yourself, Alchemist?" asked Norom.

"Doubt, Norom? No. I've lived too long, and I've seen too much. There is no doubt… but there is regret. If I believed there was any other way to create a better world, I would eagerly find it. But this is the only course that makes sense… the only way the human race will learn."

She looked almost sad as she turned away from the city, unable to stare at her future victims any further. "What a horrendous cost, though. And when it's over, my name will be synonymous with the worst monsters in history."

"But you believe this to be the best course?" said Norom.

She hesitated, then nodded. "The only course."

"Then it is so," Norom said, his tone reassuring. "This is your destiny, Alchemist. We have come too far to not see it through."

"Even if it costs us everything?" she asked.

"Even if," he replied. "Such is the price paid for those who seek to change the world."

She took no comfort in Norom's words. Why should there be any comfort? She was about to destroy an entire city, the first of many to come. She was about to bring untold suffering onto humankind. She was about to take free will and free choice away from the survivors. She was essentially about to unmake everything that humanity had achieved throughout its history.

Only a monster took comfort in that.

* * *

The poorer section of Riki Poka had its fair share of rundown buildings, condemned homes, and refuse piles that had once been pristine lots and promising real estate. It was easy for Cervantes to find a vacant building that only a rodent or a nigh-indestructible Guardian might find homey.

The two-story structure was as rancid a hovel as one could get without it falling apart entirely. Two-thirds of the walls were collapsed, mold and mushrooms covered the rotting furniture, and the insect population was thick enough to declare the house a sovereign nation. Not even the transient homeless population of the neighborhood dared to enter.

It was perfect.

Cervantes maneuvered his metal form through the gutted house until he found the one dark, dank room that offered complete privacy. It even had a termite-infested table that could still support weigh, though not for much longer.

Upon the table he spread a number of gems, tools, and steel parts that he had procured from various sources. Most of it had come from the Alchemist's stockpile. The Alchemist was a stickler for keeping track of lost parts, but it was harder for her to keep track of her precious gear when she had an entire army to monitor and a city to destroy. Her mind was on other things, and that gave Cervantes an opening.

Then again, one of the other things her mind dwelt on was _him_, which forced him to seek refuge in a place of squalor. Nothing was ever easy, was it?

He checked his inventory carefully and found everything he needed. Good. He couldn't afford to delay this project any further, nor could he risk searching for more materials. It would've been better if he had cracked open the memories stored inside the Alchemist's thought-log (the one that had gone missing right before the battle at Sanctuary Island – it was probably back in the Alchemist's hands by now), but he had gleaned enough knowledge about True Alchemy to feel confident about tackling this project. Regardless, it was too late to learn more at this stage. He couldn't afford to tip off the Alchemist to his plans. If she realized what he was working on, he'd doubted even the threat of turning the Scouring on her flagship would be enough to spare him from immediate destruction.

Truth be told, his situation was far more tenuous than anyone knew. While he hadn't exactly lied to the Alchemist about his control over the First Catalyszier, it was more accurate to say that he had exaggerated a bit. He couldn't actually fire the weapon, but he could warm it up, summon a few clouds to give off the appearance that he had full control. There was a secret connection or command that he couldn't quite decipher, and now that he was forbidden from setting foot on the _Zenith_, he would never get the chance to figure it out. Once the Alchemist deduced that he had conned her, she would destroy him toot sweet. He needed to get rid of her before she learned the truth, and the device he was building was his way of doing so.

Satisfied with the quality of the components and the privacy of his hovel, he went to work. He didn't have much time, but since he lacked the need for food and sleep, he had more time than any human tinkerer would have in his position.

Cervantes knew better than to get overconfident, but he allowed himself a smug thought or two. When this was over, he'd finally be free of the Alchemist. Her army would fall apart and he'd be around to pick up the pieces.

The so-called better world the Alchemist wanted? Not going to happen. But there _was_ going to be a world that had Cervantes in charge of matters.

* * *

It had been weeks since Hiccup had done serious smithing, and he had worried that all his time pursuing the Alchemist or mourning Astrid or just trying to survive in the Desolation might have made his skills… well, _rusty_. Maybe not so bad that he didn't know how to forge proper steel, but inadequate enough to make the two rush jobs he'd undertaken come out looking like they were made by an old man with severe arthritis and bad eyesight.

Much to his relief, smithing was much like riding a dragon – you never forgot the parts that keep you from getting injured. In fact, he was actually proud of his newest creation, a little something he'd forged for a certain team member who'd gone without a proper Champion-class weapon until now.

Hiccup gave the item a thorough inspection, then wrapped it in a clean towel and laid it on his workbench. Next to it lay the other project, also wrapped up and ready for delivery. That one went to Arc, who didn't really need any fancy items in order to be awesome but had requested this particular project just the same. Once Arc explained why, the reasons for the project did make sense. However, Hiccup was now officially out of myssteel as a result, which meant his riding armor was as complete as it was going to get unless he came across more Guardian remains.

Hiccup wiped his forehead with a greasy hand before taking off his apron, leaving a few grimy smudges on his face. He hadn't worked this hard at smithing since his early days in Gobber's workshop, spending as much time cleaning up his messes as learning the art of marrying fire to metal. Thanks to Toothless and Proto, the time had gone by pleasantly enough, Toothless acting the part of a restless furnace and Proto working as an assistant. Better than an assistant - the Guardian managed to fix up Toothless's saddle, rudder, and linkup all by himself, freeing up Hiccup for the other projects. Toothless had growled a few times at Proto while standing still and letting the machine manhandle him, the dragon not thrilled with the Guardian's presence. But Toothless understood the need for cooperation and allowed Proto to finish repairs. Hiccup did inspect the gear afterwards and found everything right in order. A little _too_ in order, in fact. If word got around about Proto's engineering expertise, the machine was likely to put all smiths everywhere out of business.

At least Proto didn't complain about not flying. Toothless was bouncing around in anticipation of getting airborne again after two days of staying grounded. The smithing hours had been long, and poor Toothless had his rudder removed for much of it while Proto analyzed and repaired everything. Hiccup owed him flight time, and the dragon knew it.

"Calm down, buddy," he told Toothless. "You'll get plenty of flying today, trust me." The dragon frowned in response, but did stop the bounding around for now.

Awaiting new instructions, Proto skittered over to Hiccup's workbench and stopped before it. Hiccup obliged him.

"You know who these belong to," said Hiccup. "Go ahead and deliver them."

_Affirmative_, said Proto, snapping up the items with a pair of tentacles and then heading away from the workshop. He almost ran right into Heather as he left, skirting by her with uncanny precision and getting out a quick _Human Heather_ as he passed her.

"And I thought dragons took some getting used to," she said, walking up to Hiccup as he wiped his hands with a stained rag. "You have a moment?"

"Just _a_ moment," he replied. "I'm supposed to be airborne within the hour."

"I just need your opinion." She held up the item in her hands, the newly patched-up leather harness that she'd been working on since the battle of the _Cauldron_. Hiccup gave it the proper scrutiny, and near as he could tell it looked pretty good, in the sense that it wouldn't fall apart anytime soon. Whether or not it would actually create a Berserker field was outside his field of expertise.

"Looks okay," he said. "Have you tested it?"

Heather shook her head. "I'll a little afraid to. It might, I don't know, fill my lungs with rocks or something."

"I'd ask Arc to help you do it," replied Hiccup. "He knows these kinds of things."

Heather put down the harness and chuckled to herself. "You know, it's only been seven months since I've seen you last, and yet somehow your life is three times as crazy as it was before."

"Only three times? I'd swear it was six or seven."

Heather chucked again. "That's the best thing about you, Hiccup. Your sense of humor in the face of overwhelming insanity."

Instead of laughing along, Hiccup's face grew serious. "I never did thank you for what you did for Astrid. I don't think she would've gotten away from the Alchemist if not for you."

Heather smiled at him, pleased by the compliment. "Well, I _did_ owe her. And it's not like I wanted to hang with the Alchemist any longer than I had to."

"Still, when this is over, we'll give you a lift back to your village. It might get a little crowded on Toothless, but we'll manage."

"Not necessary," she replied, surprising Hiccup with her statement. "I think I might stick around here for now."

"Here?"

"Riki Poka. I hear a lot of good things about it. Of course, my plans do depend on how much of it is still around when…"

"But I thought you wanted to get back to your home," interrupted Hiccup.

Heather shrugged. "Part of me does. But after all this…" She shook her head. "I'm not cut out for a provincial life, Hiccup. Besides, Linebreaker needs more crew on his ship. I think I might sail with him for a time."

"You sure?"

Heather nodded, and there was no doubt in her eyes. Hiccup felt a need to say something that had been bugging him since Heather had shown up. He had the opportunity right now, and said opportunity would be disappearing within the hour.

"Are _we_…" – he gestured at the both of them – "… all right?"

Heather thought it over, and thankfully her face didn't darken or sadden, though her smile did fade a bit. "There was never anything wrong, Hiccup. You and Astrid are right for each other. I'll deal."

Hiccup figured it was safe to believe her, and he smiled reassuringly. "For what it's worth, I really do hope you find what you're looking for."

Timing was always a fickle mistress to Hiccup. It favored him in battle, but not in much else. On impulse, he gave Heather a friendly hug, one she happily reciprocated, and sure enough that was the moment that Astrid walked up to the workshop, wearing a less-than-happy expression.

"Oh… ah, Astrid," he stammered, disengaging from Heather. "See, that was just a hug and…"

"You can stop sweating, Hiccup," she answered. "Heather, can me and Hiccup have…?"

"Sure, sure," Heather quickly said. "I have to… do that thing… somewhere else."

As Heather walked away, Hiccup looked at Astrid questioningly. "So I don't have to say 'it's not what it looks like' or anything?"

"Believe or not, I trust the two of you," said Astrid.

"Huh. You two must have had quite the bonding moment."

"More like an understanding. On the other hand, I still can't understand why you're doing this, Hiccup."

Hiccup groaned as he realized he was about to have a repeat performance of a previous conversation, a testy one at that. "Astrid, we've been through this…"

"It's not that part, Hiccup," she said. "I know the reasons why you and Toothless and Nestor are going into Riki Poka. The plan… such as it is… is the best plan we have. But I still don't get why you don't want me coming along."

Hiccup counted the reasons on his fingers. "Nestor can Shroud, Toothless is practically invisible at night, and you're not exactly a subtle person."

"Bull," she countered. "I know how to be covert, Hiccup. We've done it before… together."

"The stakes weren't as high that time."

"No kidding. But, Hiccup, you made me a promise."

"And I'm keeping it. This mission of ours isn't fighting. That part comes at the end."

"Hiccup…"

"I want you here, where it's safe, alright?!" he blurted out, his face showing a clear line of distress. "There's no reason for you to be in any danger any earlier than you need to be."

Astrid couldn't decide whether to feel touched or angry. She settled on softening her expression. "Hiccup, this is the life we lead. I'm going to be in the thick of it, with you. I know what happened in the Repository was terrible…"

"It almost shattered me, Astrid," Hiccup admitted. "And I feel all torn up now, because what I want to do is have you and me get on Toothless and fly home. I don't want to put you in any more danger. I can't… I just can't go through that again. But I know I can't abandon my friends, and I can't ask you to sit it out. So here I am, asking you to, just this once, stick with the others. You'll have strength in numbers, you'll be surrounded by Hyperions…"

She came close to him and kissed him, ending the rest of his rambling. Then she embraced him, the two of them spending a long moment comforting one another until Hiccup felt his rising anxiety abate for the time being.

"Just this once," she said. "But you better live up to your promise, and that means living, for starters."

They released each other, Hiccup taking hold of Astrid's hands and relishing the strength in her firm grip. "When the fighting starts for real, Toothless and I will find you. We're ending this together."

Then he was hit with inspiration, and it was so clear on his face that Astrid swore she saw the light in his eyes wink on. He let go of Astrid, reached into a back pocket on his pants, and pulled out a carefully folded handkerchief.

"In fact, let's make it official," he said, removing the precious object from the handkerchief, "so that we have something to look forward to when this is over." He held it up to Astrid, the morning sun catching the silver glint off its curved surface, and Astrid felt a sudden rush of heady emotion as she realized what he was doing.

"Technically, you said yes a few weeks back," he commented, wearing an impish smile. "So I could just skip the whole routine and…"

"Humor me," she managed to say, doing her best to not start crying. "A lady likes to be asked."

"Well, if the lady insists." Hiccup then adopted the traditional down-on-one-leg pose. "I had this speech prepared, but I've forgotten every word of it, so I'm just going to wing it." He cleared his throat nervously. "Ms. Astrid Hofferson…"

"YES!" Hiccup didn't even get in an eye blink before Astrid was down on her knees and practically bowling him over, hugging him and kissing him repeatedly on the face.

Somewhere in the middle of that happy whirlwind moment, Hiccup got the ring on her finger. She looked at it through tear-rimmed eyes, marveling at the simple, and yet perfect, nature of the ring. It was something so small and utterly useless most of the time, and yet it meant so much.

"It's solid myssteel," explained Hiccup. "It's not as flashy as gold or silver…"

"… But it's a whole lot more durable," Astrid finished.

* * *

Nestor had no illusions about the unsavory realties of his life, especially when it came to long rainy nights in the wilderness or getting pelted by rocks thrown by village mobs who had mistaken him for a demon in human form. But he never envisioned that one of his ordeals would be to stand like a target dummy and let people sew things to his body.

To be fair, it was his clothing that was being brutalized, but he couldn't help but cringe as Linebreaker commenced a new row of stitches, forcibly attaching a leather strip to the shirtsleeve of his left arm. The leather in question had an alchemical device glued on it, the translucent half of a tomato-sized orange crystal sphere that Lothar and Proto had extracted from one of the conduit capacitors. Lothar had some knowledge of ancient artifacts, a study of his since his Skrill-Hyperion nature gave him a natural affinity for understanding mystical science, and he had assisted Proto in dissecting the capacitor until they hit the really important parts, the crucial bit that facilitated communication from long distances.

"It's a little tight," Nestor complained. "I might need my arm, you know."

"I advise you to avoid any frays," said Linebreaker. "The stitching will hold for now, but your clothing is too feeble for long-term wear."

"You owe me a shirt for this," said Nestor.

"Ask your dragon benefactor," replied the captain. "Any money I have will come from him."

Arc, who was supervising the installation of the portable, and personal, conduit device, rolled his eyes in irritation. "I do not know where you keep getting this notion that I owe you money, Young Captain. I did not make the deal that forced you to abandon your ship."

"So you don't think that my continued services warrant payment?" shot back Linebreaker.

"I will pay you for what you are owed," said Arc. "Not for incidental expenses like shirts and…"

"Ow!" said Nestor, feeling the point of the needle scratch his skin. "Careful! My field doesn't protect me when you're this close." He glared at Arc. "Please stop angering the guy with the needle."

"Not to worry, Nestor," said Linebreaker. "I don't take out my frustrations on others. I merely run tabs and keep good billing records."

Nestor kept his irritation at the petty bickering to himself. In truth, it was the first real argument between anyone in the last two days. After "the plan" had been put together, everyone had been so busy pulling their own weight that casual conversation had all but stopped. While Hiccup had been smithing, the rest of the gang had been gathering materials or putting their construction skills to use on the final component of their city-saving operation. The mood had grown serious as time advanced toward a literal deadline, and even Ruff and Tuff were keeping their sibling battles to a minimum.

Two days of hard labor were paying off, though. The construction project was nearly finished, nestled underneath the stolen Hunter platform and firmly secured to its legs so that it was safe for air travel. It reminded Nestor of an old Greek myth he'd once heard, one involving the siege of a famous city and a clever way of getting past the city gates.

Linebreaker soon finished the final row of stitches and then stepped back to admire his handiwork. "It won't win any awards, but it'll do."

Nestor wiggled his arm and found his movements slightly hampered. He shrugged in resignation – for the ability to communicate long-distance, it was an easily paid price.

"Let me test it," he said, placing his right hand on top of the crystal and closing his eyes to aid his concentration. He cleared his mind of unneeded thoughts and started repeating Proto's name over and over in his head, awaiting the familiar internal buzzing that signaled Proto's intrusion into his mind. He achieved success after the fourth repetition, Proto's voice distorted at first as the machine calibrated or analyzed or synchronized the conduit (whichever word was appropriate) to the mental conduit. Then his words grew clear and understandable, almost as good as if Proto was beaming words into his head directly.

He kept his chat with Proto short before opening his eyes and giving Arc and Linebreaker the good news. "It works fine, at least at this distance. Proto assures me that we should have perfect communication as far as Riki Poka. After that…"

"It's a shame that you can only talk to Proto," said Arc, his tone suggesting that he wasn't happy with relying on the machine as a go-between.

"He's the only one who can work the Alchemist's device properly," Nestor replied. "You do recall that the majority of the capacitor is inside him."

"And it will keep your conversation from the Alchemist?" asked Linebreaker.

"Proto believes so," said Nestor. "Oh, and Proto just let me know that both of you have 'items' awaiting your perusal."

Linebreaker's face lit up with the news. "Hiccup came through. At least someone around here knows how to properly reward a skilled man for his labor." He gave Arc a snide look as he headed for the other side of the clearing, where Proto awaited them.

Arc ignored him, and instead of leaving he persisted in looking at Nestor with those great reptilian eyes of his, unreadable in their intention. When he finally spoke, it was in a soft voice, a gentle one.

"To think that only a few months ago, I'd have forbidden you from doing anything this risky. You have come a long way from the boy you once were, Nestor."

Nestor smiled up at his old dragon mentor. "I had a good teacher."

Much to Nestor's surprise, Arc shook his head at the compliment. "No, Nestor, this is mostly your fault. I did teach you how to control your power, but if I'd had my way I would have you living comfortably in a village somewhere, away from this life. You are naturally reluctant to take the smart route in life."

"I guess I am," replied Nestor, still smiling. But then the smile dropped away as he felt a more serious statement needed to be said.

"Truth is, Old Man, you saved me, and I needed to believe that my life was worth saving. I owed you, and the least that I could do was ensure that you never felt like you made a mistake. I know what kind of risk you took with me, especially after what happened with Latimar and Cervantes. But I couldn't prove myself by playing it safe. So here I am, doing the stupid thing as always."

Nestor considered all the possible reactions from Arc as he spoke. Would gruff, distant Arc show up, or would nonchalant, dismissive Arc make an appearance? Maybe scolding, angry Arc would manifest this time, chiding him for not having his head in the game.

What he got was the rarest Arc of all: the stricken, emotional one.

Arc looked away from Nestor at first, wearing a strong expression of dismay. When he finally got his feelings under control and turned to Nestor once more, the expression had largely vanished. But traces of it lingered in his ancient eyes.

"Nestor… you have it completely wrong," he said. "I owed _you._"

Nestor had heard many baffling things come from Arc's mouth, statements and facts that had demolished his concepts of the world and reality, but this particular one beat them all.

"What?" was all he could muster as a response.

"You heard me," said Arc. "Nestor, if you haven't realized it by now, the path to a life of cynicism and bitterness is an infuriatingly easy one to forge. If you live long enough, you eventually see everything you care about change or perish. And if you keep on living, you see it happen over and over. You met me at a time when I walked that path. I _wanted _to walk that path. My vendetta against Cervantes was simply a three-hundred-year-old excuse I used to not care about the fate of the lives around me. It is a common failing amongst the Hyperion – you witnessed it in action at the Gathering. And it is safe to say that had you not come into my life… my outlook toward the human race, toward life itself, would've made Adon's attitude pale by comparison.

"I didn't save your life so that you could reward me down the road. You _already_ rewarded me. I simply couldn't lose you after such a short time together. But what I truly wanted was for you to find your place in this screwed-up world of ours, and to survive long enough to achieve it. Had I known that you would fight me tooth and nail to stay at my side, no matter how ugly I was to you at times… I might have taken a different approach. I might've… said different things..."

"Arc, it's okay," Nestor said quietly, overwhelmed by his old mentor's emotional confession. "You don't have to…"

"Hear me, Nestor," insisted Arc. "Hear me, and know that I didn't want you to be consumed by the same bitterness that had taken me over. And yet through all your travails and disappointments, through all the grief you have experienced, even through the vast library of grim advice I have given you… you have somehow stayed Nestor. You are more worthy than I am. It is your honor and your right to wear the mantle of my barrier field. I'd even give you all of my power if I thought it wouldn't kill you to do so."

There was a long moment as the two of them looked at each other with warm expressions, unsure of what else to say… unsure if anything else needed to be said. Nestor thought it was his turn to gush, but he found that the words were just too hard to come by.

It was Arc that broke the spell first, spying someone approaching from the corner of his eye. His inner squishy dragon hid itself once more, the old Hyperion persona back in place, as he nodded politely to Saga, who for once hadn't managed to sneak up on them.

Nestor wondered if, perhaps, that was on purpose.

"I'd best go retrieve my 'item'," said Arc, and he walked off before Nestor could say anything. Nestor swore he saw Arc wink at him on his way by.

If there is an expression for being equal parts happy and sad, Saga was wearing it. She came up to Nestor and took both his hands, no longer wishing to stay standoffish with Nestor. It felt like a hard-fought victory to get to this point, but Nestor had no doubts that it had been worth it.

"I am frustrated," she said in a low tone.

"You've been hanging around the Twins, haven't you?" said Nestor. Her replying glare implied that this was not a time for jokes.

"I have no vision to give you, Nestor," she said. "I… do not know what you face, or what any of us face. I cannot tell you how to win this battle."

"That's never stopped us before," he said.

"It has never meant this much before," she replied. "This may be the first time in my life that I have felt… at peace."

"Really? What's it feel like?"

"Like I have been adrift in a merciless storm, constantly fighting to stay afloat, and then suddenly finding that the storm has cleared. My people call it clarity – a rare thing where you know your path without any reservation or doubt. I believe I may have achieved clarity, for I now know who I wish to be… and who I wish to be with."

Nestor smiled mischievously. "Anyone I know?"

"Oh, you might know him," she replied teasingly. "He has your hair, your knack for finding trouble… and your heart."

"I am glad for you," said Nestor, "but if you're looking for a storm, you need not look any further than the one we have right in front of us."

"Indeed," she said calmly. "Even with all our combined strength, it will be difficult."

"Which is why I feel I must point out something, Saga. You know as well as I do that there are no guarantees we're going to win this. If the Scouring is summoned, and it really is as big as we think it will be… and you're right next to it when it fires…"

"I know what you are saying, Nestor," she said, squeezing his hands reassuringly. "It has been on my mind as well. Every time the Scouring bursts into our world, it affects my mind. The closer I am, the worse the effect. It is possible that being that close to the Scouring will kill me, even if it never touches me. But what would you have me do? Sit this out while the rest of you rush off to battle?"

"I would never ask that," he replied. "But… I had to make sure you knew all the risks."

"What a truly bizarre world we live in, Nestor, where an Outlander has shown more concern for me in the few months I have known him than the totality of caring my father and brother have given me all my life." She looked away from Nestor, her face growing sadder. "I have not treated you fairly. I pushed you away when I should have drawn you closer."

He moved a hand to her face and gently directed her to look at him again. He smiled. "You've been far kinder to me than most people… and considering that you were trying to kill me right off the bat, that's saying something. I don't care we took as long as we did to find each other – I only care that it happened."

The sadness in her eyes fled to safer places, and that warm smile of hers managed to sneak past her defenses. "I, too, am glad… and I dearly wish this to not end."

"It won't," he said. "We're going to stop the Alchemist, and when this is over, we can make up for lost time."

Her smile became sly. "Indeed, we will," she said, right before she kissed him fiercely.

* * *

Hiccup and Nestor soon squared away their affairs, saying little goodbyes to the others as the group saw them off. Ruffnut made the remark that Hiccup better save some of the crazy for her and her brother, or she would be very cross. Qiao asked that they not drop her name to any Lords they ran into. Linebreaker suggested that they leave any and all flashy entrances to the professionals. Even Proto got in on the farewells, and somehow his was the saddest of all.

_This unit should come with Human Nestor_, the machine stated.

"You know you can't, Proto," said Nestor. "We need you here."

_Human Nestor's odds of survival increase with this unit's assistance._

"I agree. But the plan requires you to stay with the others. You are to follow Saga's orders until you see me next. Understood?"

_Understood._ And that should've been the end of it, but the machine wasn't ready to end it.

_This unit… is used to Human Nestor. This unit does not desire to alter its patterns to fit his absence._

"Neither do I, Proto," Nestor said quietly, giving the machine a pat on its sensor-head. "But trust me, you won't have to."

Hiccup had to admit that Proto's plea had actually gotten under his skin. It didn't matter that Proto supposedly didn't feel anything. The machine cared about Nestor, not in a way that humans or dragons might care, but still a clear example of fondness.

Beyond that, it was comforting to see Nestor get some attention. Privately, Hiccup found that he worried about what would become of his friend's fortunes after the fighting was over. Hiccup had a family and village to go back to, a complete set of friends to keep him company, and a love that was still in the blossoming stage. He had everything he wanted in a life – his problems revolved around keeping it that way. But Nestor would always be marked by the power he shared with Arc, a power that alienated him from the lives of your everyday mortal. That part of Nestor's life was not likely to change anytime soon. So it was nice to see that, quite by accident, Nestor had gathered a family on the fly. True, you might have to squint to see it, but it was there. You just had to substitute a talking dragon for a parent, a warrior-Seer for a girlfriend, and an ancient machine for… everything else.

For once, Hiccup didn't have to worry about his friend ending up alone in the world. He just had to worry about him surviving long enough to enjoy it.

With the goodbyes finally over, Hiccup had his customary long kiss with Astrid as Nestor took a seat on Toothless, Hiccup repeating the promise he made to her so that she knew he meant it. With that, Toothless launched himself into the air, the camp receding behind them as Hiccup plotted a course toward Riki Poka. Soon the forest swallowed up the camp, and Hiccup felt a gnawing fear in his gut that he might never see it again. The same fear made him consider how it was common for people to predict victory and make plans and hope for the best right before a major event, be it a battle or an arm-wrestling competition. People wanted to hope for a future where the planet was still alive and still contained the people you cared about, and how everything would work out because… because…

Because the alternative was not good for your morale… even if it was the greater possibility.


	20. Appointments Never Work Out

**Author's Notes **(disregard if you're reading this post-2013):

Two things:

1) I am currently closing in on the end of this story, and I plan on releasing all the remaining chapters together when that happens. We may be one or two more weeks out from that, though. So if you see more than one chapter released at the same time, you'll know we've hit the conclusion.

2) In terms of how canonical _Dragons: Riders/Defenders of Berk _is now, I am forced to finally draw a line. As far as this series is concerned (and what may come afterwards) the canon of _Dragons_ ends right before the two-part first season finale ("We Are Family"). That two-part episode, and everything after that, is no longer canon. Part of my reasoning is that Alvin is further along in dragon training than I predicted, but the introduction of Gronckle Iron is the bigger issue. After all, if Hiccup already had experience with super-strong, lightweight iron, myssteel wouldn't have been such a big deal. Now, again, that doesn't mean that characters or other elements developed from "We Are Family" onward are off-limits for my stories, but I will spell out how they work if I choose to include them.

I'm updating my profile to reflect these changes.

Onwards.

**Chapter Nineteen: Appointments Never Work Out**

Nighttime was a normally a Night Fury's playground, where a dark-scaled dragon could fly all but invisible, camouflaged to the eyes of those species that preferred a daytime existence. Most people who encountered a Night Fury in its element merely felt the rush of wind from a daring dive-bombing pass, or swore to have seen a vague shape eclipse the stars or black out the moon. Or, if the encounter was hostile, they'd soon be feeling the blistering heat of its blue fire.

Toothless was working with a handicap tonight. Three of them, in fact, if you counted Hiccup and Nestor separately. They had donned darker clothing to blend in better, but their presence still worked against the dragon's natural night-cloak ability. At least Hiccup was wise enough to not wear his myssteel riding armor, as the glare from the armor would have ultimately given them away.

The third handicap patrolled the skies above Riki Poka, and it was an obstacle the dragon had never dealt with before. Human ships, sailing the air instead of the water. It was not normal. It was downright unfair, in fact. The long stone warships were outlined with dots of blue luminance, strong enough to present a danger to the dragon if he flew too close. Thankfully, the airships were spread out over the city, providing large gaps in the patrol routes that Toothless had no trouble exploiting.

There were other… things as well, more of the troublesome floating platforms that Toothless had grown to hate. They kept closer to the ground, hovering over the buildings like humongous three-legged spiders waiting for the right prey to walk underneath them. They were easily enough to spot and avoid, but their numbers made the dragon uneasy. There was no way he could fight off so many of them, no way he could defend Hiccup if stealth failed them and they were revealed.

As Hiccup had him turn toward the largest airship in the distance, the one resting in the water and doing what proper ships should do, Toothless kept an eye out for one other threat, the one he feared the most. She was here, he was certain of that. She would be with her human, or else she would be in the sky, but Toothless knew she was present in this human place. She had declared her allegiance to the human Hiccup called the Alchemist, the one that planned bad things for everyone, and though Toothless had saved her life in that dark place called The Repository, Toothless did not know if she would honor her debt to him or if she would greet him with her terrible green energy the moment she saw him.

While dragons in general are not creatures that understand the concept of fate or destiny, Toothless did subscribe to the belief that he and Dark Star would see each other again. He was Hiccup's dragon, and she was the Alchemist's, and opposites had a tendency to collide. Dark Star would find him, or he would find her. And there was no way to know what would come from that meeting.

* * *

A cloudbank had settled over the city during the night, enough to obscure the stars and the moon but not the ships floating about the sky. Most residents looked upon the clouds as an unwelcome development, a few claiming it was an omen of ill fortune. But not everyone was down on the clouds, as it lent extra coverage to one particular interloping dragon and his two riders.

Hiccup was glad to see the city remained in one piece, though the darkness did much to hide the city's scars. There were no big out-of-control fires or vast stretches of rubble illuminated by torchlight, only the scattered pinpricks of outdoor torches and indoor hearths. The city was ten times quieter than before, though, its bubbling mood suppressed by its unwelcome occupiers.

But what really did in the mood was the grotesque lighthouse that had been recently added to the horizon. The tallest hill in the distance now held a funky-starfish tower that sparkled with a thousand internal stars, lighting up the cloudbank around it and making it the most radiant object for miles around. It was a good thing that they didn't need to go anywhere near it, as its omnipresent glow would have exposed them dead to rights.

Hiccup and Nestor wordlessly stared at it for a time, marveling at the horrific piece of ancient mystical technology. This was their first time seeing it, and it was quite the eye-opener. It might have even been beautiful, in a terrible way, had Hiccup been unaware of its name, nature, and purpose. It was hard to create a positive description for something slated to destroy hundreds of thousands of lives by the end of tomorrow.

"You relaying all this?" whispered Hiccup to his traveling companion.

"Every awful detail," Nestor whispered back.

They kept talk to only when necessary, both for stealth and so to not distract Nestor from his current task of feeding intelligence to Proto through the conduit device. Hiccup hated the silence. Talking helped soothe his nerves when situations got tense, even if the conversation was one-sided, and his nerves could use a lot of soothing.

They circled around the city a few times, Toothless keeping them away from any flying sentinels, as Nestor quietly took note of the Alchemist's forces. When he was satisfied that he'd gotten an accurate headcount, he tapped on Hiccup's shoulder and whispered for them to move to their next objective. Hiccup nodded and spurred Toothless to head for the _Zenith_, which was water-bound for some reason. It was also away from the rest of the fleet, which lessened the threat of detection.

Once clear of the city, Toothless dropped altitude until they were skimming over the dark waters of the harbor. The _Zenith _loomed before them like a surface-dwelling sperm whale, inert and unlit. A few watchmen patrolled the deck with conventional lanterns, more for formality than out of any fear of attack. Hiccup cringed – they had to get close this time, close enough to be seen by those guards. Toothless understood what needed to be done and maintained his sea-grazing flying as they circled the warship at such a close range that Nestor could've power-jumped to the ship.

Ever the showboating dragon, Toothless managed to pull off low-altitude, practically-stalling, tight-turning flying without making a single suspicious splash, growl, or flutter. Ever impressed with his dear dragon buddy, Hiccup kept vigil for any sign of distress from the guards, whose eyes were too focused on the horizon to realize the real menace under their noses. Hopefully it stayed that way, because this would require some time to pull off.

People thought of Hiccup as a fairly smart guy, able to deduce dragon behavior and put together complex scientific thought and build sophisticated devices for various laborsaving duties, and most of the time Hiccup had no problem agreeing with that image of himself. Today, though, he felt rather dumb, because he had no idea how Proto was supposed to use the conduit capacitor to link up with the _Zenith's _conduit capacitor. There were clearly areas of study Hiccup had yet to believe existed, much less fathom. Hiccup felt like every time he had a handle on how the world really worked, something new came along to throw everything into question once more. On the plus side, it did make the world an interesting place to live.

Nestor continued his silent-partner act as they looped around the ship, as much in the dark about this process as Hiccup. They had to keep close to the _Zenith_ until Proto told Nestor otherwise. Something about getting a proper read through the conduit capacitor, which required close proximity and patience. They had to get this right the first time, otherwise they wouldn't get another chance to fulfill Proto's request and the overall plan would then get exponentially harder, if not impossible, to pull off.

After the sixth loop, Hiccup started getting the creepy feeling you get when you feel like you've pushed your luck too far. He gave Nestor a questioning look, only to receive a helpless shrug in return. No word from Proto, apparently.

Two more laps later, Hiccup thought he saw one of the guards on the ship look their direction and make a jerky head-turn, as if suddenly suspicious. Hiccup frantically thought d_on't see us, don't see us, don't see us_ as he stared at the guard, dreading to hear the guard cry out in alarm. As Toothless rounded the ship, the guard dropped from sight, but Hiccup felt no relief. Now he dreaded what he'd find when they circled back to that point – a guard still searching the darkness for a mysterious silhouette, or many guards poised with crossbows, about to _shoot_ the mysterious silhouette.

"We need to wrap this up, Nestor," he hissed.

"Love to," replied Nestor, "but Proto still needs time."

Hiccup leaned into Toothless's ear and whispered a new order. The dragon waggled his head in agreement. This time, when they began a new lap around the ship, Toothless banked extremely hard and turned the opposite direction, reversing their loop and sending them counter-clockwise around the _Zenith._ Hiccup held his breath as Toothless finished the dangerous move, his wing slicing the water with minimal noise. This close to the ocean, it was a bad idea to do acrobatics of any sort, but now they had a little more time before they flew by the alerted guard.

Hoping that the guard had dismissed the sighting as a trick of the dark, Hiccup held his breath again as they neared the spot where he last saw the guard looking out to the sea. But the guard had moved on, having lost interest in whatever he thought he saw. Hiccup breathed again, then held his breath for a third time when he saw two guards further up the deck, talking to one another under the yellow lantern light. One of them was the alerted guard. Gods, what if he was spreading the word and…

"We have it!" whispered Nestor into Hiccup's ear. "Go!"

Hiccup double-patted Toothless and the dragon wasted no time getting distance from the _Zenith_, speeding out to sea and keeping low until they were safely out of sight of any sentries. Hiccup had to force himself to release his breath again and fight off the brief wave of lightheadedness that came from too frequently starving yourself of air.

"Proto better have what he needed," he commented, feeling that it was safe to talk normal while they were out of earshot of the city, "because we are _not_ doing that again."

"Relax, Hiccup," said Nestor. "Proto acquired the connection… two connections, in fact."

"Two of them? Why two?"

Nestor shook his head, ignorant of Proto's intentions. "All he told me was that it took so long because he found another conduit coming from the vessel that might carry significance. He said he might be able to use it in some way. Can't say I understood what he meant."

"But we're good to go on the important part, right?" asked Hiccup.

"Yes."

Hiccup sighed as he felt the evening's tense outing abating from his mind. "Yay. Let's find a place outside of town to camp for the night."

When he didn't hear a _Yes, Hiccup, good idea_ from Nestor, Hiccup swiveled in his saddle to face his companion. Nestor had a seriously contemplative look to him, which did not bode well for agreement.

"It's a big army, Hiccup," said Nestor. "I think we need to do more."

Hiccup felt the return of his nerves, and it was not a pleasant return. "You're not seriously considering Qiao's idea, are you?"

"She did have a point," said Nestor, confirming that, indeed, he was considering Qiao's idea. "The more people on our side, the better."

"You're serious? Nestor, I'm used to working on the crazy side of ideas, but this one is just a tad too much on the crazy side for my tastes."

"So is most of our plan," replied Nestor. "I think we should try it once before we give up on it… and we'll go with the name Linebreaker gave us."

* * *

Lord Benzyl's private chamber was much like his physique - plush, plentiful, and over-decorated. Every square inch of wall space was adorned with a fancy painting, tapestry, or bric-a-brac that had some kind of exotic character to it. Painted facial masks from Africa, silk dresses from the Far East, fur rugs from the North, and a rainbow of fabrics and costumes filling out his closet. He even had a large dragon skull, species unknown, which had been dyed black and outfitted with a number of gemstones that made the terribly garish wall mount the flashiest thing in his room.

To his credit, he didn't spend money on pricey and valuable decorations just to show off to visiting Lords and perspective ladies. Those kinds of items did fill out his guest rooms, but in his personal quarters, it was all about character. Every object in his room needed character, even if that character was over-the-top or terrifying in nature.

Lord Dunkirk was grateful that Benzyl's personal table was functional, despite it having eight wooden legs carved to look like those of a spider. Onto this table was strewn a pile of reports and maps acquired through various sources, most without any type of official seal. It was the accumulated net worth of their intelligence gathering over the last three days. It was barely enough to work with, but considering how rushed and covert they had to be, it was a far better haul than they had expected.

The two men stood at the table, alone except for a songbird in the back of the room, asleep in its covered cage. Most of the room remained in gloomy darkness save for the table, the windows shuttered and the balcony door secured. They picked through the amassed correspondence, examining them or organizing reports based on importance. This was the first official meeting between the two of them since their joint declaration of cooperation the night of the Alchemist's invasion. They had kept things on the down low, sending out feelers to sympathetic members of the navy and militia, even hoping to convince other Lords to aid their efforts.

"The leadership of this city is loathsome to behold," said Lord Benzyl, practically spitting out his words. "Not a single Lord is willing to help."

"At least they didn't turn us in to the Alchemist," said Lord Dunkirk.

"Only so they don't get accused of being co-conspirators," said Benzyl.

"Why does it surprise you? Riki Poka attracts merchants, not soldiers. To our fortune, we can count Admiral Pelzer in our corner."

"A fine development under different circumstances, but it does us little good." Benzyl threw the report in his hand onto the floor in disgust. Not good news, evidently. "Our navy is useless against the Alchemist."

"We can still use his ships to evacuate people."

Lord Benzyl scoffed at the idea. "They'd be destroyed before they left the harbor."

"Then what do you suggest, Benzyl? This is what we have to work with."

"This isn't enough!" Benzyl's cheeks went flush as his temper rose. "We can't hope to lead an evacuation with a few militia squads and an outclassed navy!"

"But we can still save someone," said Dunkirk, hoping that his calm voice would remind Benzyl to lower his. There was no way to tell how loyal Benzyl's servants were, or how quickly word might travel to the Alchemist, so discretion was needed.

Benzyl did lower his voice, but his mood didn't improve at all. "Those airborne menaces patrol all the routes out of the city. We start a large exodus, the Alchemist will blockade the roads and the harbor."

"The hills can afford us some cover. There are trails that lead out of the city."

Benzyl didn't scoff as before, but neither was he thrilled. "Run-down trails. Only a few hundred might get to safety."

"It's still a few hundred more than…"

The balcony door rattled on its hinges as a strong gust of wind struck it. Dunkirk glanced at it nervously, unable to shake off his primal fear of an Alchemist hit squad bursting through the door to apprehend them. Lord Benzyl's home seemed to be cursed with an above-average sea breeze occurrence due to its location on an unprotected hillside.

"It's still lives saved," he said.

Lord Benzyl sighed heavily, shaking his head not in denial, but in hopelessness. The heavy-set man normally couldn't go more than an hour without snacking on a bowl of fruit, but Dunkirk hadn't seen him eat a crumb in the last several hours. Oncoming tragedy was apparently the one thing that could rob Benzyl of his bountiful appetite.

"So it comes to this, then. We get to choose who lives and dies. Even with all my years working with your father, I never envisioned such a terrible choice to make. I wonder what he'd say about you and me conspiring to save the city."

"I think he'd be glad to see you in the thick of it," said Dunkirk.

Lord Benzyl thought it over, then nodded in agreement. "I think he would be… though I'd rather he be the one doing this instead."

The door rattled again from a fiercer breeze, and this time the old latch securing it must have given up the fight, for the heavy wooden doors swung open, allowing the cold night wind inside. The papers on the table suddenly found the will to move, and they scattered onto the floor. The candles suffered as well, flickering out and casting the entire room in deep shadow.

"Blasted door!" roared Benzyl, moving through the gloom to close the doors. "I can get the finest Asian silks from thousands of miles away, but I can't get a proper locksmith to fix a simple latch!"

While Benzyl fought and swore at the balcony door, Dunkirk snuck out to the hallway, procured a lit candle, and waited for Benzyl to stop swearing. Once it was safe to reenter, he quickly moved to light the table candles, restoring light into the grim proceedings.

It wasn't until he had the final candle alight that he realized that the room population had somehow doubled in the darkness.

They stood in the darkened part of the room, looking fairly uneasy and unthreatening for having just boldly broken into a Lord's Manor. They were two scrawny characters with no weapons, one wearing a sophisticated metal foot that no sailor would've invented. Dunkirk put a hand to his sword hilt as a precaution, but he chose not to draw steel as yet.

Lord Benzyl noticed them shortly after Dunkirk, and the shock sent him reeling backward over a dressing stool. One tumble later, he was flat on his back and struggling to find his feet and his dignity.

"Before either of you start yelling for the guards," said the metal-footed young man, "just hear us out. We're not here to cause trouble."

Dunkirk made no move, keeping his eyes firmly on the two intruders. "Who are you?"

"Formal introductions," said the taller of the two young men. "I'm Nestor, and this is Hiccup. Sorry about coming in like this, but your house staff said you couldn't be disturbed."

"They're not my house staff," said Dunkirk. "And most people set up appointments when told not to enter."

"The appointment thing never works out," said Hiccup. "And I really don't think any of us have time to spare."

"What the…" sputtered Benzyl, having managed to stand up and compose himself. "This is an outrage! Assassins in my private room! I will…"

"Save it, Lord Benzyl," interrupted Dunkirk. "If they wanted us dead, we wouldn't be having this conversation. Besides, do they _look_ the part?"

"Of course they don't look the part," replied Benzyl. "That makes them perfect."

"Wait, _you're_ Lord Benzyl?" said Nestor, pointing at the fat Lord and feeling a measure of disappointment. "This doesn't bode well."

"I'm pretty sure this is Lord Dunkirk," said Hiccup to Nestor, motioning at the blond-hair, far-more-physically-imposing man before them.

"Have we met?" said Dunkirk.

Hiccup thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "I just recognize your picture from the Open Museum."

"No, I think we've met," said Dunkirk in a curious tone. "I remember your foot. Even in Riki Poka, it's a very distinctive oddity. I think it was before the Harvest Festival. You were traveling with others at the time, on your way into our city."

Hiccup and Nestor exchanged glances, unsure if this was a good development or not. "Come to think of it, I do remember you greeting us a few weeks back," said Nestor. "It was quite the whirlwind day for me, so my memory's a little spotty."

Lord Benzyl turned his scowling face on his fellow Lord. "Did I not warn you about those meet-and-greets you like to do? Makes you the target of every two-bit hoodlum and con artist in the city."

"So we're not assassins any longer?" asked Hiccup.

"I have no clue who you are," replied Benzyl, "but you're not welcome in my home. Our business is not your business."

"That's a shame," said Nestor. "Our business is taking down the Alchemist. I figured yours would be the same."

Name-dropping the Alchemist made Lord Dunkirk look intrigued and Lord Benzyl less scowl-ridden than before. They exchanged their own set of unsure glances, wondering if this was a scam or a set-up.

"Forgive me for not taking you at your word," said Dunkirk. "But I have the same reservations as Lord Benzyl. The Alchemist is a common threat to us all, and there are many who would take advantage of the gullible, even in these dire times."

"Right, the trust barrier," asked Hiccup. "So how do we bust through it?"

"For starters," said Benzyl, "why are you looking for me?"

"We know an acquaintance of yours," said Nestor. "He thought you were the best chance we had concerning the Lords Council. Incidentally, he wanted me to tell you that if you ever hope to win a fashion contest in the future, you can't rely on pastels."

Lord Benzyl almost fell over again as the revelation took hold. He eyed Hiccup and Nestor cautiously for a moment longer, then laughed heartily, as if Nestor had just told a brilliant knock-knock joke. Lord Dunkirk stared in wonder at the elder Lord, having never seen such a mood switch in the man.

"Linebreaker," declared Benzyl between laughs. "The only rival I've ever had that I could never best in a honest contest. Next time, you should lead with his name. It would've saved us much consternation."

"That's it?" said Dunkirk, still feeling the baffle. "You suddenly trust them?"

"My Lord, there is nothing Linebreaker takes more seriously than his yearly fashion contests with me. If he was willing to reveal his fashion tips, and thus throw away next year's contest, so that I would trust these two, then we can certainly trust them."

"That was easy," said Nestor, equally amazed at the reversal.

* * *

It had been some time since Hiccup had summarized his life story to someone who didn't know a single thing about him. Picking and choosing what was important and what was superfluous require careful monitoring of the words coming out of his mouth. The most difficult part involved describing how dragons were actually far more helpful and far less terrifying than legends implied without sounding like he was part of a cult of crazy dragon worshipers. But it was vital that the point got made, seeing that half of their team was composed of dragons. It wouldn't be helpful to have the Riki Poka militia attacking the wrong side.

Some details did not need to become common knowledge, like Qiao's relationship with the Alchemist or the Alchemist's true origins. All that needed to be said was how the Alchemist operated and what could be done to stop her.

Lord Benzyl played the gracious host as the night wore on, ordering food and drink from his kitchen for Hiccup and Nestor and commenting that they were in danger of falling through the cracks in the road if they didn't put on more weight. Hiccup wasn't all that hungry, but he happily snacked on an apple while Nestor continued summarizing the last few months. Fruit wasn't something that graced Berk's shores very often, since fruit trees couldn't survive the winters and perishables that weren't salted to death rarely showed up on trade vessels.

As the initial anxiety of their meeting abated, Hiccup found himself looking about the elaborate room and marveling at the spectacle around him. He had never seen such flagrant flaunting of wealth, most of which had no historical value (the gemstone-covered dragon skull was borderline offensive, even going by pre-dragon-riding Viking standards, but Hiccup wasn't about to make an issue of it). When you did your growing up in a village that might burst into flame three or four times a year, you learned not to put too much stock in worldly goods, or else you kept the important stuff on your person or someplace fireproof, like the Great Hall.

While Lord Benzyl might be a fine leader of men when it came to running a trading city, Hiccup found Lord Dunkirk a far more relatable soul. He was quick to ask the right questions, intrigued with the prospects of otherworldly powers and mystical technology, and never once made Hiccup feel like a lowly wart on a yak's bum. On the other hand, Lord Benzyl would let slip an occasional phrase reflecting on how "the other type lived" and other backhanded observations about those who lived beyond the comforts of the city.

It was close to midnight by the time Hiccup and Nestor got Dunkirk and Benzyl up to speed, and Hiccup was surprise at how unsurprised the two Lords were. They must have suspected the worst ever since the Alchemist invaded their city. Good on them. It certainly made convincing them to act that much easier.

"So what do you and your friends intend to do?" asked Dunkirk. "Do you intend to take on the Alchemist's entire armada?"

"We'd rather live through this, thank you very much," said Hiccup. "But we do have a plan… which we can't tell you."

"What?" Lord Benzyl's scowl returned for the first time in several hours. "Considering that it is _our_ city in the Alchemist's sight, I would think we should know such a thing."

"No, we shouldn't," said Dunkirk, giving Benzyl a hard look. "I doubt there is anything we can do that will assist them, and should our intentions be discovered by the Alchemist, we might endanger their plan."

"I'm glad you agree," said Nestor. "But there _is _something you can do, something that doesn't require you knowing what we're up to."

"We need… diversions," said Hiccup. "Lots and lots and lots of diversions. We need to spread out the Alchemist's armada over the entire city, keep them distracted for as long as possible."

Dunkirk must have been thinking along the same lines, as his response was immediate and enthusiastic. "We do have some men at our disposal. We can put them to use."

"For what?" said Benzyl. "They would be useless as soldiers."

"But not as protesters," said Dunkirk. "The Alchemist seems keen on keeping order in our city, most likely to keep our people from performing a mass exodus before she can demonstrate the full horror of her weapon. We send volunteers all over the city, have them dress as civilians, have them pretend to be unhappy citizens objecting to the Alchemist's occupation. After five days under her control, I imagine such anger would be understandable and believable."

"Have our men feign civil disobedience?" said Lord Benzyl. "I suppose that will attract the Alchemist's attention, but not her hostility. Then again, how do we know she won't order her troops to open fire on our people to make them an example?"

"We can't know for sure," said Hiccup, "but from my experience, the Alchemist is only ruthless when she feels she needs to be. The real problem is that she's not stupid. If she see protests break out all over the city, she'll start thinking something's up."

"Then we'll have to move quickly," said Nestor. "Lord Dunkirk, can you arrange this to happen at noonday tomorrow?"

Dunkirk nodded without hesitation. "If I get started now, I believe I can pull it off. Looks like I have a sleepless night ahead of me."

"We both do," said Lord Benzyl. "I will talk to Admiral Pelzer and get his men up to speed."

He then looked Hiccup's way, his expression stuck in a neutral spot between pleased and concerned. "I don't know if your appearance is a sign of good or ill fortune for our city, but you have given us hope, and that is something we were sorely lacking. Normally I would grant you accommodations here in my manor, but the servants gossip about everything and they'd let slip your location before dawn."

"We were going to camp outside of the city anyway," said Nestor. "I mean, who needs a comfy bed when there are rocks and tree roots to sleep on?"

"There is one more thing we should show you," said Hiccup. "Someone you should meet so that you tell your men not to freak when you see him flying around tomorrow."

Hiccup walked to the balcony door, unlatched it, and opened it wide. He spent a moment coaxing someone down from the roof of the manor, and in short order a dark shape bounded onto the balcony. The doorway was barely wide enough for the black form to squeeze through, brushing past Benzyl's decorative bed and knocking its colorful canopy askew.

Toothless stood before the two Lords, looking as friendly as a dragon could look to a pair of men whose knowledge of flying reptiles came from secondhand horror tales. Dunkirk got over the shock very quickly and approached Toothless to examine him up close, the dragon patiently letting him get comfortable with his presence. The young Lord's apprehension soon morphed to wonder as he marveled at Toothless, a child-like look of excitement on his face.

"There is a dragon in my room," said Lord Benzyl, still in the shocked stage. "I should be more disturbed about this than I am."

"An amazing creature," said Dunkirk. "If I had any doubts about your tales before, there are well and truly dispelled."

"You can touch him, if you want," said Hiccup cheerfully.

"Uh…" Dunkirk made to reach out toward Toothless, then quickly retracted his hand. "Perhaps next time. I'm happy with not getting eaten."

* * *

Cervantes could've written several best-selling tomes on living the life of a metal abomination, all the quirks and nuances that go with forsaking your organic body in favor of a more durable frame. One chapter would've covered how a mind that didn't need sleep was a mind that still grew tired of focusing on one thing for too long. Even when you didn't suffer fatigue or exhaustion, you still needed variety in your experiences.

So it was that he opted to take a break from his True Alchemy experiment after getting the bulk of the disc-shaped item put together. It was close to the size of a pie plate, clumsily adorned with gems and metal bits that made it resemble bad art more than a devious invention. It was what inventors referred to as a prototype. He'd need more time to test it properly, for while he believed it would work as intended at this stage of its creation, how well it worked or how effective its range or how much exploding it would do were all questions that needed to be answered. He needed to know if his device had any serious flaws upon activation, or else those flaws would quickly become deadly.

He went up to the roof of the condemned hovel and looked about the sullen city, hoping for a little bit of excitement. So frustrating to not have bone minions to order about. He loved the vicarious thrill of watching them wreck a village or fight dragons, safely commanding them from afar while they reaped destruction on his enemies. Now he had to do everything himself. Not really his style.

While excitement proved invisible to him this night, he did spot something else in the distance. The clouds were faintly aglow over the city, alternating between the orange hue of the numerous street torches below and the bluish gleam of the patrolling airships above. Even if it had been pitch black, Cervantes had special Guardian eyes that could see through the piercing darkness. Even so, when he first spotted a lithe form moving through the sky, he assumed it was Dark Star out for an evening flight. The dragon hadn't bothered to Cloak itself since the invasion, often sending the people who saw her in flight into a fearful tizzy, fearing the dragon would swoop down and carry off their children or something equally ghastly. Half-metal Night Furies were the stuff of nightmares, though admittedly not as frightening as full-metal skele-dragons.

Then he saw the dragon was carrying a rider. Two riders, in fact. Neither of them were showing off like the Alchemist did when she rode atop Dark Star. They sat upon the dragon like respectable riders should. He couldn't recognize them from this distance, but the dragon was clearly a Night Fury, that rarest of breeds.

So it was that Cervantes did find excitement after all. For if the black dragon flying out of the city wasn't the Alchemist's pet, then it could only be one other… and oh, the implications that came with that dragon's identity.

* * *

Had Cervantes been less obsessed with his own problems and more observant about his enemies, he might have made fewer incorrect assumptions. For example, he had yet to understand that Dark Star actually enjoyed moving about unseen, whether under the cloak of darkness or under the power of the Alchemist's mystical field. The Alchemist had taught her the value of subtlety and camouflage, that there was power in moving about the world while hiding in plain sight. Flying out in the open was not in her nature – such antics were at the request of her master, a performance designed to provoke fear and obedience in the humans on the city.

Another erroneous assumption was in not realizing how much the dragon _hated_ the ex-necromancer. Cervantes had done the unforgivable – he had taken away her master, even if only for a few days. Such a crime had to be punished, and it burned her worse than a bad case of plasma reflux that she had to tolerate the presence of the metal murderer. She obeyed the Alchemist by not destroying him, but she refused to leave him alone entirely. Whenever the Alchemist released her from her duties, she would Cloak and track down Cervantes, watching his every move.

On this night, Cervantes had chosen a poor human house to stay in. She found a perch atop a taller building that allowed her to look down with her special eye and watch him undetected. She watched him for hours, her protective instincts shoving away any thoughts of boredom or tiredness. She was too far away to make out what he was doing, but his movements resembled those of her master's when she worked on her human-things, the things that glowed and made others fear her.

Day turned to night, and yet she watched. The urge to sleep nipped at her, and yet she watched. Her flesh-parts complained of hunger and thirst, and yet she watched.

When Cervantes stopped working and came to the roof, she tensed, prepared for treachery. But he did not detect her. After a time, Cervantes took off into the sky, heading out of the city and following a distant object that didn't resemble one of the Alchemist's flying human-things. Given time, Dark Star might have recognized the unidentified object, but all her thought was on the abomination she was chasing.

Utterly invisible in the foggy sky, she took off after the flying metal monster. She would find out his intentions, she would know if Cervantes meant her master harm, and she would die before he took the Alchemist away again.


End file.
